


Like a Moth to a Flame

by RenderedReversed



Series: Things I Probably Won't Finish [6]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (stupid), ADRIEN IS NOW HERE GUYS, Aged-Up Character(s), Cat!Hawk Moth, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Identity Reveal, Redemption, Slow Build, THINGS R GONNA GET REAAAAL, with a side of Adrinette & Ladynoir ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, even supervillains can’t predict everything. In which an akuma gone wrong leaves Hawk Moth as defenseless as a kitten—quite literally—and his only hope comes in the form of a warm girl with familiar bluebell eyes…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doubler

The first time Hawk Moth thinks this akuma might not be the best idea in the world is when, ironically, Ladybug and Chat Noir are thrown through a wall.

Normally, this would be good. Anything that could weaken the two superheroes had the possibility of success, and since akumatizing the denizens of Paris didn’t cost him anything anyway, it was always well worth the try. True, there had been more misses than hits—and technically speaking, since he didn’t have the Ladybug and Chat Noir miraculous yet, everything had been a miss—but he knew how to be patient. Good things come to those who wait.

So, yes, Ladybug and Chat Noir being thrown through a wall? Good. Ladybug and Chat Noir being thrown through a wall because of his akuma? Even better. The Doubler, said newest akuma, _gloating_? Well, things always went wrong when the villains gloated…

Observing from afar, Hawk Moth hears The Doubler shout, “Give up, Ladybug and Chat Noir! Any double I create will have _twice_ the power of the originals! You stand no chance against _Ladybird and Chat Blanc_!”

“You know,” Chat shouts back, “Technically speaking those aren’t doubles. What’s the matter, feeling a little _off-white_?”

Ladybug’s groan is audible. “Terrible!” she exclaims before adding, “You can’t blame the guy. His workload’s really _doubled_ up.”

Chat grinned. “Well, with us here, I’d say he’s got a multi- _two_ -d of problems.”

 The Doubler shoots them a withering glare. “Talk all you want, but it’s the end of the line for you! Ladybird, Chat Blanc, take their miraculous!”

The white copies of Paris’ superheroes step forward. Hawk Moth waits, breath held in anticipation. This is the moment. This is the moment when he finally, _finally_ defeats Ladybug and Chat Noir. The two are obviously outmatched, and they’re even surrounded by the doubles of some beefy-looking civilians. There can’t possibly be a worse situation for them.

He’s proven wrong in the next five minutes.

Ladybug’s Lucky Charm gives them an escape route with some fancy maneuvering and The Doubler is left screaming in rage. Hawk Moth feels his own annoyance peak. Every single time he has them cornered, they slip out like they’re made of oil to his water. Is it too much to ask for his akuma to be a little more competent, and Ladybug and Chat Noir to be a little less?

 Apparently, the universe tells him, it is.

Maybe The Doubler wasn’t the best idea in the world. While there is some poetic beauty in fighting against oneself—Hawk Moth can appreciate dramatics—against two partnered superheroes, it isn’t just fighting against oneself, it’s fighting against a partner you know like the back of your hand…while said partner is fighting beside you.

Ergo, the doubles are predictable and predictability is the easiest weakness to take advantage of, signed with love, Ladybug.

Hawk Moth sighs. No, it isn’t over yet. His akuma has yet to be purified. So what if Ladybug and Chat Noir escaped by the skin of their teeth? They won’t be so lucky next ti—of course they will. Ladybug is the literal representation of good luck. Mentally, he’s already throwing The Doubler into the figurative waste basket. Another day, another failed plan.

“I need someone stronger,” The Doubler mutters to himself. “I need someone who’s always been a pain in Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s side! I need—I need—”

“Chloé Bourgeois?” Hawk Moth drawls. Unfortunately, his wit and humor is lost to the akuma.

“No! I need _you_!”

“…Doubler—”

“No, see, this is brilliant!” The Doubler exclaims. “A second you could make more akuma! A second you could make _another Doubler_ , and another Doubler could make another you until there’s no way Ladybug and Chat Noir could win! There’d be too many of us!”

The idea is almost appealing for all of five seconds until he remembers _that’s not how his miraculous works_. He can’t make multiple Doublers; every individual has their own champion form. Now, if The Doubler could make a double of himself, then it’d be a plan, but unfortunately he can’t, so—

In the time it takes for Hawk Moth to find three different reasons why the plan won’t work, The Doubler is already on the move. “This will work.”

This won’t work.

…Still, if there is two of him, The Doubler is right that there would be another akuma to contend with. Hawk Moth considers it. The Ladybug and Chat Noir miraculous are absurdly overpowered when combined, so much so that no other combination of miraculous users can rival them. It’s why he has never entertained the idea of fighting them face to face, but with another Hawk Moth...

With another Hawk Moth, there would be two of him. Better yet, there would be another akumatized champion who The Doubler could clone. Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s clones, plus the other akuma and its clone, plus his own clone...hm. This might actually work.

Good things come to those who wait. Hawk Moth decides he’s done enough waiting and fate has finally decided to reward him.

* * *

The second time Hawk Moth thinks that this akuma might not be the best idea is when he’s facing himself.

Clone-Hawk Moth—“ _Le Papillon_!” The Doubler insists—glares at him from across the room. Much like Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s clones had been, Papillon’s colors are white instead of dark purple. The only article of clothing they share is the silver mask. Hawk Moth hates him on first sight.

“There is no need for two,” Papillon drawls, his cane clicking on the marble floor as he strolls forward. To the side, The Doubler protests, but all it takes is a flick of that cane to silence him.

Hawk Moth is annoyed. The Doubler is _his_ akuma. What gives this, this, this knock-off the right to command him? At the same time, he acknowledges it would be wise to be wary. Papillon is—and this, he is reluctant to admit—twice as powerful as him. Apparently that means he has more powers than him, rather than just augmenting what powers he has now.

“You should leave, then,” Hawk Moth says. “I was here first.”

Papillon smiles. It’s so belittling that he wants to stab his face with his cane.

“You? How many times have you failed to get their miraculous? Face it—you are no match for Ladybug and Chat Noir. I, on the other hand…”

“You have no place here,” Hawk Moth interrupts. “What are you but a creation of my akuma? What would you even do with the miraculous if you had them?”

Papillon’s smile grows sharp. It’s one Hawk Moth is more than familiar with, this time—he knows, because he wears it on his face every time he akumatizes a citizen of Paris. He knows, because he enjoys wearing that smile. And why wouldn’t he, when it’s the smile he wears when he has a plan. A good plan.

A plan that involves someone else’s misfortune.

The Doubler really, really wasn’t his best idea.

Papillon raises his cane. A wash of dark, sickly magic rushes out of it and Hawk Moth is given no time to dodge.

The last thing he sees is that smile, and the last thing he hears is his own voice.

“Why, I would become real, of course.”

* * *

If Hawk Moth thought the worst thing ever was waking up as a black cat, he’d be wrong. _Living_ as said black cat is a million times worse.

Ironically, Paris doesn’t like black cats. One of their superheroes is literally Chat Noir, and yet the stigma against the black coat is as strong as ever. Hawk Moth has been shouted at, thrown rocks at, shooed at, kicked at, almost ran over several times—all for doing nothing. Maybe it would’ve been better had he been known as the supervillain terrorizing the city, because at least then he’d be mistreated for actual things he did.

He hasn’t done anything. The only reason he’s starving in some rancid alleyway is because he’s a cat that’s black. Hawk Moth meows, soundly declaring to the world that he hates everyone and once he’s Hawk Moth again, Paris better watch out because he’s burning it to the ground. After he gets Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s miraculous, that is—and maybe stabbing Papillon in the face with his cane.

He’s hungry, he’s tired, and if his nose is right—and the dumpsters’ stench isn’t messing with his senses—it’s going to rain. So, he’ll be hungry, tired, and soaked to the bone on top of it all. The Doubler is now officially one of his Worst Ideas Ever—capitalization necessary—and he’ll definitely make a Post-It note later to never make another akuma who clones things.

The rain starts, and Hawk Moth wonders if he’s going to die like this. Irony is his life. Ladybug and Chat Noir probably won’t even notice that the villain trying to steal their miraculous has died and been replaced with some off-white knock-off. Not even the miraculous he _has_ successfully stolen is working—Nooroo is absent, and the butterfly miraculous is still in its transformed state on his neck, but his power is woefully absent.

There are no bright sides in this situation. An optimist would be hard-pressed to say one good thing, never mind open their mouth if they were in his shoes.

The rain comes down harder. He’s too tired to try dragging himself to the dumpster farther back. All he can do is lie here at the mouth of the alley and wait for death. No one wants to help a black cat; that much is evident by the fast-pace of the Parisian pedestrians trying to get out of the rain. He’s done enough to deserve this and he won’t even be dying for what he did—he’ll be dying because Papillon decided to have his coat be black, and this is the most humiliation Hawk Moth has felt in years.

He’s so wet that he doesn’t even notice the rain stop. When he finally does, Hawk Moth uses the last of his energy to open his eyes and glance up. Funny, the sound of the rain drops haven’t stopped, and—

There are shoes in front of his face. Hawk Moth twitches.

“Aw, poor kitty,” someone croons. It’s a girl, from the sound of it, and as Hawk Moth tries to lift his head, he sees pale skin, pink pants, and a warm hand.

“Who would leave you out in the rain like this? Let’s see, this is your collar, right?”

The hand reaches for his miraculous, and all he can think of is _no, it’s mine, all of the blood, sweat, and tears I spent to steal this and no one’s taking it from me_ —

Good news is that his hiss is successful in making the hand retreat. The bad news is the hand _has_ retreated, and he might’ve scared the girl off for good. What if she thought he was some unvaccinated stray? Her parents must’ve taught her to stay away from aggressive animals. He could bite her, and have rabies, and then…

…He’s so tired.

“Don’t worry, kitty,” the girl says. She’s still here? “I’ve got you.”

The warm hand is accompanied by another this time. They don’t reach for his miraculous, thank small mercies—instead, they wrap around his torso and pick him right up. There’s a little bit of shifting before he’s properly cradled against her chest—he briefly feels the plastic of an umbrella handle against his side—but she manages.

He’s wet and cold and the fact is only made more obvious by the way he soaks her thin shirt. The unexpected body heat makes him shiver. He doesn’t have enough energy to squirm, or meow, or anything equally undignified however instinctual it feels. When the girl does nothing but hold him closer, tighter before running down the street, Hawk Moth falls asleep to the sound of wet footsteps slapping against the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the end of this (if we reach the end) I'm determined to make you all love Hawk Moth.
> 
> ...Including me, because tbh I'm indifferent to the dude. Fingers crossed this won't be as big of a mess as I think it might be...
> 
> Also if you have akuma ideas I'm all ears.


	2. Marinette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette is a grade-A cinnamon roll and Hawk Moth recognizes this. And notes it down for future Akuma use.
> 
> (Yeah lol good luck with that dude.)

Hawk Moth wakes up warm, dry, and still starving. There’s a smell of something sweet in the air, and he feels his ears twitch to the sound of someone whispering. It’s not too disturbing—better than the loud murmurs of a crowd on the streets—but it does wake him.

The Doubler. Papillon. And then…

There was a girl.

Hawk Moth opens his eyes. It was incredibly strange to be a cat before, and it’s still incredibly strange to be a cat now. His vision is sharper, but everything is so much bigger. He has an extra limb in his tail, and walking on all fours is harder than one would think. Of course, _not thinking_ lets his instincts take over, but he doesn’t want to rely on those. Instinct doesn’t have the same sort of planning to it that Hawk Moth is used to.

He relies on them anyway, because there’s nothing more humiliating than tripping over air every five steps.

There’s a warm blanket draped over him, and the cushions beneath his body are soft. He notices a towel carefully folded off to the side, and the scent that comes off it is something like rain water and a hint of soap. The—basket, he’s in a _basket_ of all things, but it’s levels above wet concrete that’s for sure—container his bed is in is a shallow thatch basket, perfect for berry picking, and the thought of fresh fruit makes his stomach whine.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Hawk Moth feels his ears angle before his head even turns. When it does, he reaffirms his memory—there was a girl, young but at least in lyceé. Her dark hair is tied in two pigtails, a hairstyle he has learned to abhor, but it suits her the same way a bird’s feathers covers its wings. She looks—looks, yes, she does that; but the girl is looking _at him_ with concern, and Hawk Moth wonders when the last time anyone had cared to look at him that way.

It’d have to have been years, he muses with detached interest. Not since—

The girl steps forward, drawing his attention back again. Her eyes are so friendly that Hawk Moth doubts the flash of familiarity he feels, but perhaps that could be analyzed again later. She doesn’t want to frighten him, he realizes. Her hand reaches out, but doesn’t touch, and it is by instinct that he stretches out of his plush haven to smell her hand.

She smelled like spring and warm honey.

Once his inspection is done, the girl smiles and brings her hand to stroke his head. It’s a heavenly feel, simultaneously the best warmth in the world and the greatest affection he’s ever known. Hawk Moth will deny it to the day he dies, but her touch makes him melt and his traitorous body actually _purrs_.

“You’re just a big ‘ol softy, aren’t you?” she whispers. “People can be really mean sometimes. I wonder how you ended up there…”

Her eyes, he notes in a daze, are blue. The entirety of the ocean could be contained in them and he wouldn’t be surprised. They shine like the butterflies he corrupts on a regular basis, and he wonders for a split second if he’s akumatized her before. After so many years, the akuma he’s created number in the hundreds. Would he even remember her if he’s akumatized her before?

…He would. The nicest people make the cruelest akuma. She would be a strong champion, and he notes this down for future reference. Once he gets out of this mess, he swears he’ll be pickier about who he akumatizes. It can’t always be a new victim of the mayor’s daughter, after all.

His head follows her hand as she pulls it away. She giggles at his indignant look; the sound is unexpected and it starts him out of whatever trance her pets have put him in. To end the humiliation, he retreats back into the warm blanket and buries his head in the cushions.

“I’ll be right back, kitty. You’re pretty hungry, right?”

That would be putting it lightly. While his body doesn’t agree with her absence, his stomach does and that’s ultimately what Hawk Moth listens to. His thoughts urge her out, the door closes behind her, and all is silent again.

…Maybe it’s time to figure out where, exactly, he is. Hawk Moth uncurls and glances around the room.

It’s a teenager’s room, there’s no doubt about it. While most of it is surprisingly neat, there _is_ some clothing on the floor and wall space seems to be a thing of the past. From the peak of wallpaper he can see, the room is painted a soft pink. It reminds him of the popular strawberry gelato several blocks from his lair—some poor sap had dropped it, he remembers, and from the remains he had created Jelato.

In retrospect, burning jealousy was an excellent emotion to take advantage of…as long as it wasn’t over frozen dairy treats. Jelato had managed to turn the entire store into a riot, but his power had only worked over those eating creamy desserts. Once the fight had encompassed the entirety of Paris…

Does he even have to say it? Fine, Ladybug and Chat Noir took care of him in record time. Hawk Moth wrinkles his nose and pushes the incident aside. He has a room to inspect.

The aforementioned posters are of the typical teenage girl flavor. There are clothing designs tacked onto a bulletin board, pictures of friends, family, and vacations, several posters of Jagged Stone—who he _has_ akumatized before—and…a wall dedicated to Adrien Agreste?

Celebrity crushes. Hawk Moth would never understand them.

Speaking of celebrities, he would’ve expected a girl like her to have newspaper clippings of Ladybug and Chat Noir hung around the room. If she did have them, he’d probably be tempted to scratch them up, but she doesn’t and the fact surprises him. The Parisian superheroes have a _statue_ of themselves made in their honor. Paris loves them, and a girl who has Jagged Stone and Adrien Agreste on her wall but _not_ the fortune pair? Curious.

He looks out the window. He’s…three floors up, if his estimation is anything to go by, and as much of Paris does to him, the streets look familiar. He tries to find a street sign, anything to tell him where it is, but his inspection is cut short by the door opening again.

The girl is back. His nose twitches.

With food.

“We don’t have any cat food,” she says as she walks over, “So these are lunch leftovers. I did a quick Google check to make sure it was safe for cats.”

Hawk Moth slinks over. He previously abandoned his basket in his exploration, but the girl doesn’t seem to mind. She places the bowl down—he knows what it is before seeing it; eggs, rice, and a large amount of chicken breast—and he doesn’t even wait for her hand to fully recede. His time of starvation is over, and that is enough to reward the girl.

Once he’s back to human form, he’ll send her something. A fruit basket? Tickets to a Jagged Stone concert? He’s a supervillain, not an ungrateful heathen.

“Wow,” the girl mutters. He can feel her stare on him as he devours the bowl, but he’s too hungry to care. Food first, human later—table manners be damned, he’s a _cat_. That should exempt him from something.

Once he’s done, she sets a wider bowl half-filled with water on the table. He slurps that right up too. For this, he’ll make sure she’s not caught up in the next akuma attack—well, _his_ akuma attack. As he is now, he’d have trouble saving his own skin never mind a civilian’s. Hawk Moth licks his lips and looks up expectantly. She still hasn’t stopped staring at him.

“Oh! Um, here.”

The water bowl is filled again, and he wastes no time drinking his fill.

“I’m Marinette, by the way,” she says once he finishes. “This is, well, my room. Sorry, but I checked your collar when you were asleep—it doesn’t seem to have any address on it, so maybe you don’t have an owner?”

He can’t reply and she doesn’t expect him to. Still, Hawk Moth blinks and sits patiently as if they’re actually having a conversation.

“I’m…not sure if my mom and dad will let me keep you,” she confesses. “I’ve always wanted a pet. More of a hamster person than a cat person—but that doesn’t make me like you any less, I mean! We live in a bakery. Pets aren’t the best thing to have around for health inspections.”

“Understandable,” Hawk Moth replies. It comes out as a meow.

“I want to keep you though,” Marinette says rather wistfully. “Cats are—I like cats, I do. I’ve got a friend who’s more cat than boy, and as terrible as his puns are, he’s sweet.”

She takes a seat at her desk chair, and Hawk Moth changes his position accordingly. He may or may not have tilted his head up to implore her motionless hand into action.

She laughs. It mingles with the purr coming from his throat.

“If I can’t keep you, I’ll make sure you find a good home,” she promises. “You don’t deserve to be out on the streets again. No one does—well, maybe Hawk Moth, but not permanently.”

Should he take offense to that? The hand that scratches his head says ‘No.’

“If…well, if you could stay here, would you?”

Her question catches him off guard—about as much as the pause in the pets do. Hawk Moth looks at her, catches her blue eyes with his gray, and then in one succinct meow, says yes. It’s not like anyone else would want to own a black cat anyway. His unwelcome street shower has proven that much.

Marinette smiles as if it’s never rained in the first place. “I’m glad, kitty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's slowly sinking in that I actually made Hawk Moth a _cat_.
> 
> Hawk Moth is a cat.
> 
> ...I need to lay down.


	3. Tom and Sabine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth and Marinette make a surprisingly good team.

The confrontation with the girl’s parents comes sooner rather than later.

“Marinette…” Tom, who he learns is her father, trails off. They clearly love their daughter, but a pet in a bakery is just not a good idea.

Sabine, the girl’s mother, sighs. She finishes off for her husband who is useless against puppy dog eyes. “We told you before,” she says, voice soft but firm, “No pets in the bakery, sweetie.”

“I can keep him in my room! He won’t step a foot in the bakery. And I’ll take care of him all by myself—he’ll be my responsibility, you two won’t have to do a thing. Please?”

“…Honey—”

“I’m seventeen,” Marinette says, “I’m not ten anymore. I can be responsible for a pet!”

“Oh sweetie, we know,” Sabine assures, “But there are health regulations…rules. Having a cat is…”

“ _He won’t step a foot in the bakery_ ,” she insists. Hawk Moth can feel, from where he’s cradled against her chest, her rock back and forth on her feet. She’s nervous and desperate—he can smell it in the air—and, Hawk Moth finds, he’s a bit of that, too.

He needs a place to stay. Paris has made that clear. And he’s only known her for a day, but he’s known _Paris_ for years as their primary supervillain. There are worse people, places he could end up, and this girl is willing to house and feed him as long as he doesn’t make a fuss. For most cats, maybe this would be a problem, but that’s just it. Contrary to his current form, Hawk Moth is not a cat.

He can follow rules—respect boundaries. If they don’t want him in the bakery, he won’t be in the bakery. This girl is his best bet to live until he figures out how to change back, so Hawk Moth temporarily abandons his dignity—no one will know, no one has to know—and does his best to look innocent and cute.

When he meows, temporarily catching their attention and their hearts, the mantra of _this never happened, no one is going to find out this has ever happened_ plays on repeat in his head.

The girl catches on quick. Taking advantage of his distraction, she continues to bolster her argument for his residence. “I’ll keep my door closed at all times. When I take him out, I’ll carry him in my arms so he doesn’t get on anything. First thing tomorrow I’ll take him to the vet—oh, _please_? He can’t go to the shelter! No one will take him! He was outside, starving in the rain, and no one so much as _glanced_ at him. He’s such a sweet cat and someone just up and abandoned him! Please, can I keep him?”

Her mother and father share a look.

Seeing her parents’ ambivalence, Marinette thinks fast. “I—I even named him already!”

Oh, she’s good. The preemptive guilt is clear on her parents’ faces now, as if the bond between their daughter and her cat is a treasure that shouldn’t be broken—ever. Hawk Moth applauds her act, especially since she looks like she’s going to cry. He decides to do his part and reaches up with a paw, meowing in faux concern.

It’s the right thing to do. Her eyes light up like a church window on a Sunday morning. A hand moves up to pet his head, and he purrs when she leans her cheek down to nuzzle him. They make an absurdly cute pair—especially when she giggles like he’s the best thing since sliced bread, and suddenly, Tom and Sabine find themselves backed into a figurative corner.

To break their daughter’s heart, or not to break their daughter’s heart?

The choice is easy.

Sabine sighs again, but this time it’s in resignation. “What did you name him?”

“Um—”

Hawk Moth sees the girl’s eyes flicker to the brooch around his neck. He feels a premonition push in the back of his head, like he knows what’s going to happen and he isn’t going to like it one bit. Not that he doesn’t already hate the situation he’s in now—ridiculous, he’s thrown away his pride and dignity because of the universe’s absurdity—but this is going to be the proverbial icing on the cake.

“Papillon!” Marinette blurts out. “His name is Papillon!”

…Of course.

Unfortunately, he can’t afford to express his displeasure. In fact, he has to express his explicit agreement, so the sound that comes out of his throat is one that he doesn’t want to think he can make. Her parents, seeing that he’s already reacted to his name, break down completely.

“There will be ground rules,” Tom says, not open to compromise.

“Anything!”

“He has to stay out of the bakery—kitchen, too. You’ll have to use the back door when you want to take him out.”

“That’s fine!” Marinette exclaims, nodding with enthusiasm.

“He’s your responsibility,” Sabine adds. “You said it before, but we’re serious. Any mess he makes is yours to clean up, and you’re in charge of making sure he’s healthy. Pet food, exercise, shots…”

“I’ll do a hundred-and-ten percent of the research,” she assures, “And some.”

“We also reserve the right to make new rules if something comes up,” Tom adds.

“Of course!”

Only then do her parents smile. “Then welcome to the family, Papillon,” they say, and suddenly he’s assaulted by the best pets and scritches.

So this is where the girl gets it from. Hawk Moth decides to let the day continue as so, and tomorrow he’ll forget this ever happened. No one will remember this day, not even him—tomorrow, he’ll be back to being an out-of-commission supervillain, and maybe that’ll be enough to stop these foolish cat instincts from making him purr.

Yes, tomorrow.

“Did you feed him already?”

Marinette laughs. “Didn’t you say _I_ was in charge of his food?”

Tom pouts. “I can still make snacks! Right, Sabine?”

Sabine rolls her eyes.

* * *

“Well, kitty, that went better than I expected!” Marinette chirps once they make it to her room. She sets him down and closes the door behind her. “It’s still early, so I’m going to head out to the store and get…erm, cat stuff.”

Hawk Moth blinks.

“…Yeah, I should probably research that first.”

The girl hums, sliding into her desk chair with a lazy plop. She wiggles the mouse—and no, he did not watch the movement for a moment too long—and he catches a glimpse of red hearts, Adrien Agreste, and bright pink on her desktop wallpaper before it’s covered by a window. So she’s obsessed with a famous model? Honestly, Hawk Moth thinks she doesn’t seem like the type.

But he’s known her for all of a day and some hours, so maybe it’s too quick to say. Lord knows his pride in judging people is a bit wounded after The Doubler.

“Hey, Papillon?”

He slinks forward. The girl turns her head in surprise.

“Oh, um. I didn’t think you’d actually—wait a minute…”

He waits.

Slower this time, she calls, “Papillon?”

He walks forward, makes a small jump to move right next to her mouse pad. Then, Hawk Moth sits. It would be for the best if she thought he had some modicum of intelligence—he wouldn’t stand for that baby talk pet owners so liked to coo in. Perhaps he could handle it for a day, maybe a few extra hours if he _has_ to, but who knows how long he’ll be in this form. Weeks? A month? Longer?

This girl is his temporary sanctuary. Papillon—his clone, Papillon—cannot find him, because next time it might not just be a transformation spell. Next time, what comes at him could be significantly deadlier. As long as he stays in this room he should be fine, but even he knows a lack of social interaction is unhealthy for a human.

He doesn’t want to be spoken to like an infant. Just the mere thought makes his tail thrash, but with the way she’s staring at him, Hawk Moth thinks he might be safe.

“Smart kitty,” she mutters to herself. When she reaches out a hand, Hawk Moth puts his paw on it.

His tail flicks. Marinette blinks.

“ _Very_ smart kitty,” she amends. “Alright, I can work with this.”

She takes her hand away, and Hawk Moth lets her. They spend the next hour browsing the pet store website, discussing with a mixture of words and meowing what things to get. Hawk Moth knows next to nothing about being a cat, but he does _not_ want a pink litter box.

They compromise and choose the purple one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I forgot to mention I aged them up. 
> 
> Also, now we have in-text identity shenanigans between Hawk Moth and his double, bahahahahaha.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have never owned a cat before so all I know is how to Google things. If you've got any suggestions for cat-related shenanigans, _chat_ -nanigans if you will, leave a message in the comments!


	4. Vet Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth just barely dodges a _cat_ astrophe.

Going to the vet is, unfortunately, a necessity. Hawk Moth logically knows he is perfectly healthy—he was a human up until several days ago—but the girl and her parents don’t.

He doubts it could be too bad.

It’s not like he’s actually a cat. He’s simply—just, well, a bit disabled right now. Otherwise, Hawk Moth would be in the position of power here and there’s nothing a puny, insignificant vet could do if he wanted to squish them like a bug. So, he settles into the newly purchased purple crate the girl had bought the day before and jots down one more day he’s better of forgetting.

“Sorry,” the girl whispers to him as they take a seat in the waiting room. “I know this can’t possibly be comfortable for you. But we really have to make sure you’re healthy.”

Hawk Moth understands. He does. However, apparently comprehension doesn’t cancel out his instincts, because he can feel the fur along his spine bristle at the hissing and barking of other animals. The waiting room is not a pleasant experience—anxiety stains the air; there are too many different scents without enough circulation to ease them.

“It’ll be quick once we get in,” she murmurs. “Half an hour tops. Promise. And then we can go home.”

His tail flicks within the confines of the crate. She can’t see it, but the sound of the _whap_ is telling enough.

Marinette makes a disappointed sound at the back of her throat. “I’d pick you up and hold you, if that even helps, but the clinic rules say you need to be in the carrier at all times. I’m sorry, Papillon…”

The sound of the girl’s voice helps. It’s soft to his ears, smooth like the whistle of a wind instrument. He can deal with this. He’s Hawk Moth, Paris’ most powerful supervillain! He is owner of the butterfly miraculous, and there is no way in Hell he’ll be defeated by a simple visit to the vet.

“I’ll make some treats for you when we get home,” Marinette decides, eyeing a dog that looks a little too aggressive for her liking.

After the trip to the pet store, Hawk Moth has already made it clear he will eat no less than real human food. Whatever he eats, _she_ should want to eat, too. He will allow a specific food and water bowl—ordinary bowls move too much when he tries to eat—but none of this cat food nonsense.

So, when she says she’ll make treats, he holds them to the same standard.

Then again, they do live above a bakery, so maybe there’s no cause for concern. A baker’s daughter should be fully capable in the kitchen, right? Hawk Moth himself knows how to cook a few simple meals—he lives alone, of course he does—though he usually dines out at restaurants.

“Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” An official-looking lady comes out of the back room. Marinette stands, picking up his crate, and walks forward to much of the envy of the rest of the room.

Hawk Moth grimaces. Another thing he doesn’t like—this crate. It’s not bad, and he certainly has developed a liking for small spaces, but it’s plastic and rough and what he really wants is a cardboard box, like the one back in the girl’s room that she keeps a bunch of supplies in—

Wait, what.

He did not just think that.

No way.

His tail lashes out against the side of the crate again, and he can hear Marinette whisper calming words under her breath.

The next thirty minutes are filled with uncomfortable touching and Hawk Moth’s mantra of _no one has to know this day ever happened_ before it’s over. They leave with his dignity wounded yet again, and to make matters worse, the vet’s parting line is,

“Have you thought about getting him neutered?”

Horrified, Hawk Moth hisses up a storm before anyone can stop him. Marinette yelps as the crate shakes and she almost loses her balance, but she sets him down before any accidents happen.

He can practically smell the vet’s confusion, but it doesn’t make him feel better. He was calm and generally well-behaved for the entirety of the visit, and only now he throws a fit? But she doesn’t know he can understand her. The girl, at least, has a clue.

“Ah…haha…” she says in lieu of an actual reply. “Well, um, seeyoulaterdoc thanksforthevisit _bye_!”

Marinette grabs his crate again and hightails it out of there.

* * *

Hawk Moth ignores the girl until she brings up a plate of tuna cookies.

Marinette smiles. “Friends?”

He doesn’t give her a reply, but he _does_ eat the treats.

* * *

“So,” she begins, “No neutering.”

Just for the mention of it, Hawk Moth hisses. It’s enough to make the girl raise her hands in surrender.

“That’s fair. Just…I’m not going to find a litter of kittens in my room one day, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Hawk Moth says, sniffing for emphasis. She doesn’t really _understand_ , but her tangible relief tells him she’s got the message.

“Alright then. Thanks,” she says, and then all enmity is forgotten when she reaches out to rub behind his ears. “Good kitty.”

Hawk Moth doesn’t know what’s worse—being called ‘Papillon’ or being called _that_. He is not, _not_ a cat. The tail is a lie, the purring is a lie, the desire to hop into that cardboard box in the corner of the room is a God damn lie and, he thinks, the list of things he has to forget by the end of this is growing a bit long.

At least Nooroo isn’t here to mock him.

* * *

“Hey Alya,” he hears the girl say from his place on her lap.  The hand running through his fur has reduced him to little but a heating pad. “So I got a cat.”

_“…Your parents let you get a pet?!”_

Marinette giggles. “It took a little bit of teamwork, but yeah! I just have to keep him in my room.”

“ _Girl, I_ need _to see this. I’m coming over after school tomorrow.”_

“Yeah sur—oh no.”

_“You forgot today was Sunday, didn’t you?”_

The girl groans. Her hand stills, and Hawk Moth has to bat at it to resume the petting.

“I didn’t do any homework today!”

 _“At least you figured that out before you came to class tomorrow,”_ her friend says, snickering into the phone. _“Better get started.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously, neuter your cats.  
>   
> I lowkey crush on Marinette when she giggles ugh
> 
> Edit: It was like, for all of 2 minutes but I posted the next chapter (Alya's chapter) before this. Woops. Ummm it's all fixed now; sorry about the alerts. Please ignore that and see you all tomorrow!


	5. Alya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth makes a physics pun and no one hears it. In other news, water is wet. #JustHawkwardThings

As the archenemy of Ladybug and Chat Noir, of course Hawk Moth knows who Alya Césaire is. It helps that she was an almost successful akuma as Lady Wifi…on top of being the brains behind the Ladyblog.

He just doesn’t expect her to be best friends with Marinette, which she is, considering how she walks into the room like it’s her own home. He’s heard the girl’s parents greet her downstairs as well, welcoming her in like their own child. They hadn’t walked home together for whatever the reason, but indeed about two hours after the girl comes home herself, Alya waltzes in without even a knock.

She grins. “Where’s the cat?”

“Right here. Papillon!” Marinette calls, glancing over her shoulder at him. Hawk Moth is half tempted not to come; he’s fairly comfortable in the makeshift bed she’s made him. Still, he is rather curious what kind of information the Ladyblog writer has, so he reluctantly gets up and walks over.

Alya squints. “You named him ‘Papillon’ of all things?”

“It’s his collar,” Marinette admits, because there is no way Hawk Moth as a cat looks like a butterfly. “I found him with it on, and he won’t even let me touch it never mind take it off. If it’s so important to him, why not name him after it? And who knows, maybe Papillon really is his name. He responded to it quite fast when I said it.”

“Hmm,” Alya says. “He…won’t scratch me if I pet him, would he?”

“I don’t know. You’re the first person I’ve told, other than mom and dad. He’s fine with me, but…”

Hawk Moth may want information, but he doesn’t want to snuggle up to another person because of it. The girl is bad enough—he has to please her, or at least treat her nicely, in order to stay. Then again, would scratching her best friend constitute kicking him out?

Alya purses her lips and looks him over like the doctor had. Hawk Moth, unamused, sits still as a statue for the duration of it—not because he wants to show his compliance; rather, it’s because he doesn’t want to give her anything to work with. When she finishes and stretches a hand for him, Hawk Moth slides away.

She wants to pet him? She’ll have to catch him first.

“Guess he doesn’t trust very easily,” Marinette pipes up with a shaky laugh. “Sorry. I know you like animals.”

“It’s cool,” Alya replies, shrugging. “The way you found him, I wouldn’t trust people either. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised he didn’t scratch me.”

“He’s a good cat at heart,” the girl says. “Smart, too. I didn’t have to train him at all and it’s like he knows what I’m saying.”

“Really now?” She stares at him again. Hawk Moth stares right back; he’s no stranger to dealing with people of her breed. Journalists are all the same, always looking for a good story. If he shows a sign of weakness, they’ll pounce and take advantage of it. What she doesn’t know is who exactly her target is—all the better, because the owner of the Ladyblog would, of course, be crazy about Ladybug.

And who better to reveal Ladybug-related details to than her best friend?

“Papillon?” Alya calls.

Just to spite her, Hawk Moth turns away.

“Um…give it some time?”

“Oh-ho!” the Ladyblogger exclaims simultaneously. “Kitty’s got an attitude, I see how it is. Not a problem! We’ll work on it, because if he likes you, he’ll be getting a load of me! We’re a package deal; you hear that, kitty? You want some of this cinnamon roll—” Marinette yelps as her friend pulls them together, “—then you’ll have to deal with me!”

“Alya! He’s a cat!”

Alya laughs. “Well, for all we know, he could be a spy for Chat Noir!”

Come again? One of Hawk Moth’s ears angles.

“What?” Marinette scrunches up her noise. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Her friend shrugs and flops onto her. “Sure it does. You have to admit, your balcony has potential as a romantic hotspot…and who better to climb up there than Chat Noir?”

“I’ve talked to him like, twice. And aren’t you always going on about him and Ladybug anyway?”

“Yes, well, don’t think I didn’t see what you were doodling in class. What would Adrien think if he found out? Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Chat Noir’s number one fan!”

“Alya!”

She cackles, dodging a swipe. “Always here to help my girl out!”

Ugh. Teenagers. Hawk Moth flicks his tail and retreats back to his bed. Their conversation holds his interest for all of a second before he concludes it as pointless drivel. Though, it’s rather curious—how could her best friend claim to know her when there are zero Chat Noir posters on her wall? In fact, nothing visible in this room suggests the girl’s interest in the two superheroes.

Well, not his problem.

Hawk Moth decides to take a nap.

* * *

He wakes up long after the girl’s friend leaves.

“You didn’t like Alya that much, did you?” she asks, not looking up from her work at the table. A history textbook lays open before her, and he can see several others closed at her side. Her stylus taps, swivels, pauses and scrawls; the clicking of the tip is the only sound in the room.

It’s…nice. Something about another body there in the silence makes the world of difference. Whether he is in his office or in his lair, Hawk Moth is alone. He is accustomed to it, grown into the environment from a sapling dug half a meter down. But he isn’t alone anymore—this is Marinette’s room, Marinette’s space, Marinette’s solidity that she has welcomed him into.

It’s strange, being welcomed again.

“She’s my best friend,” the girl says, setting down her stylus to check over her work. “I understand if you don’t trust her that much yet, but she’ll be over a lot. It would be good if you two got along…at least, no scratching if you can help it? She puts herself in danger way too often, and I don’t want my room to be another one of those places.”

The Ladyblog is popular for a reason. Alya Césaire posts live coverage of akuma attacks—footage that she gets herself. Hawk Moth supposes he can be…neutral to her, for now. She is nothing but a casualty in the grand scheme of things, after all. There is no reason to go out of his way to harm her. Whether or not akuma do the deed for him, that isn’t his concern.

In one fluid leap, Hawk Moth lands on the table. He takes a seat right on top of her open textbook.

Marinette laughs. “I don’t like history either, but it’s better than physics…which I have to study for, like now.” She sighs. “The only thing I hate more than physics homework is a physics test.”

“I suppose that’s something to work on then,” he murmurs. She doesn’t understand.

But when the girl smiles and pats him on the head, it almost feels like she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cats are rude. Hawk Moth is rude. Marinette is a cutie pie with no chill.not that I'm biased or anything what are you talking about haha
> 
> We'll get to Adrien ~~soon~~ eventually, don't worry. Just curious, but who would you want to see first, Adrien or Chat Noir? (This isn't a vote, I'm seriously just curious.)


	6. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth realizes having cat ears sucks.

Awkward situations are surprisingly a non-issue. Hawk Moth won’t say Marinette is _boring_ —just that she’s focused. Often times serious, especially when designing new outfits and working with fabric.

She goes out with her friends, comes back all tired out, and showers. That’s where she changes—which is important, because it avoids a lot of the problems Hawk Moth wasn’t thinking about when she was negotiating with her parents. It’s not a matter of the girl knowing he isn’t quite a cat—no, there’s no way she could know—it’s just that changing in the bathroom right before and after her shower is convenient. And Marinette likes to shower. A lot.

It’s been a week since he’s been turned into a cat, a week since Papillon replaced him as Paris’ supervillain, and a week since an akuma has shown up. Maybe, Hawk Moth thinks, Papillon can’t make akuma. He technically doesn’t have a kwami to activate a miraculous that he also doesn’t have, so maybe that’s why it’s been quiet.

(…Then again, Copycat had been able to use Cataclysm. If The Doubler works in much the same way, Papillon should also have the ability to use the butterfly miraculous.)

Either way, it’s been a week since he’s met the girl, and this is the first time he sees her coming home stumbling on her feet.

“—And I appreciate how quiet it’s been, but I can’t even enjoy that!” she’s saying as she trudges through the doorway. “Ugh. I hate tests. I hate projects. I hate papers! Why is everything due in the same week?”

Hawk Moth blinks. Is she talking to herself? The girl really _is_ tired.

“Hi—” Marinette yawns, “—Papillon. I don’t think I can play with you right now…too tired.”

And then Marinette starts stripping.

This, Hawk Moth thinks as he immediately turns away and closes his eyes for good measure, is reasonable. She looks like her knees will give out any minute now, and falling asleep in the shower is a one-way ticket to catching a cold…and raising the water bill. So going to sleep without a bath is understandable, even for Marinette who loves to shower. He shouldn’t be surprised. He should’ve expected this.

Dear lord, this is so awkward. He would’ve appreciated a bit of warning.

Nothing is hidden to his ears. He hears the rustle of cloth as she tosses off her shirt, the rough slide of denim as she pulls down her jeans. There’s a small click as she unlatches her bra—and a sigh of relief accompanying the act—and then he hears her footsteps as she walks to her drawer and pulls out her pajamas.

The material is significantly softer and more delicate than her daily wear. Hawk Moth hears that, too—she slips it over her head, pulls her arms through and lets the bunched up satin fall.

In conclusion, sometimes his ears are a curse and all of these sounds are too damn loud. He only opens his eyes when she starts to climb up her ladder, nightgown swishing at her thighs, and he only dares to look at her once she’s settled in her bed at the top.

Marinette smiles sleepily down at him. “Wanna catnap with me?” she asks, patting her bedding as an invitation.

His immediate reply is ‘No.’ He has a bed—she _made him_ a bed, in case the girl’s forgotten—and he will use it. Hawk Moth is old enough to be her father. Sleeping beside her, even as a cat, touches lines he doesn’t even want to think about. To be explicit, he is _not_ and will _never be_ a pedophile, and she is young enough to make him uncomfortable at the mere thought.

He hisses at her. Marinette, used to his vehement refusals, shrugs and settles down. “Suit yourself,” she says. “Good night.”

“…Good night,” Hawk Moth says, just as he had for the last five nights. He doesn’t remember how she got him to say it, doesn’t remember why he started. No one wishes a supervillain a good night’s rest, and he certainly doesn’t wish Paris a sleep well had. Still, it feels wrong not to reply to her.

She speaks to him as if he could speak back. That, he supposes, is enough. Enough for what, he won’t clarify—not even in the safety of his own mind.

Soon enough, her breath evens out. Marinette is asleep, and her light snores indicate she really needs it. Well, that’s fine. Hawk Moth will leave her to that. In the meantime, he has two superheroes to look out for.

He climbs her ladder and gently hops over her to the next one. The trap door leading to her balcony is, as usual, unlocked, so Hawk Moth lifts it with his head and slips out. He has no desire to go roof climbing, but being on top of a three-story building is good enough for a view. If either Chat Noir or Ladybug are patrolling in this section of Paris, he’ll know.

As long as he’s in this form, they won’t recognize him—any bit of information he can get is _good_ information, so Hawk Moth settles down for a night of hero-watching. He wonders if the Ladyblogger is out on the streets below, hunting for the fortune pair. If she is, that’s also fine. The girl checks the Ladyblog often enough, even if it’s for a quick scan at the behest of her friend.

He needs to know. He needs news. The Doubler is out there…as well as Papillon. For all he knows, they could even be using his lair right now! Hawk Moth lashes his tail, feeling it flick against the iron fencing as he bottles his rage.

What will he do if he sees them and what will he do if they see him are two questions currently unanswered. Unlike usual, Hawk Moth doesn’t have a clear plan. It would be easier if Papillon had made his move already, but he hasn’t, and that’s cause for concern. Who will he target? _How_ will he target? Twice the strength of a miraculous user is no joke.

His tail flicks again. The Doubler was a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler before we progress the plot (ohohohohoho)!
> 
> ...Don't get used to it. There will be a significant lack of plot once we've got the situation outlined.


	7. Ladybug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth experiences his first identity reveal. Apparently he's never read any Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction ever. Go figure.
> 
> Or, in which Hawk Moth realizes he's been fighting against a couple of teenagers for years. Correction, he's been _losing_ against a couple of teenagers for years.

The girl is drawing in her sketchbook when the screams start.

Hawk Moth hears them first. He swivels, and a second later, Marinette jolts. It’s got to be an akuma, that’s all it can be, so Hawk Moth prepares to climb up onto the balcony when he hears the girl stand.

...Why is she getting up? Why is _she_ climbing up to her bed? Is she going to take a nap now of all times or—

“Tikki, akuma attack!”

What.

A red blur pops out from the pile of pillows on the bed. It flies up through the trap door, and a second later, the girl follows. The next thing he hears is, “Tikki, _transformé moi_!” before a pink light spills from the opening. When he regains his wits, Hawk Moth runs for the balcony. He pokes his head out just in time to see the form of Ladybug swinging away, already two rooftops ahead.

What.

What just happened?

For a second, Hawk Moth forgets he’s a cat and tries to step down the ladder. It fails, he falls, and only _then_ does his body remember that he’s a cat. Instinct takes over and he lands on all fours. Something pitiful makes its way out of his throat—a mix between a yowl and a whimper—but Hawk Moth barely remembers making a sound. He found Ladybug.

He’s been _living_ with Ladybug.

Ladybug pets him on a daily basis. Ladybug makes his meals three times a day. Ladybug took him to the vet—dear lord the vet, there’s a witness—Ladybug _cleaned his litter box_. Ladybug, who gives him scratches and love and affection and. And _Ladybug_ , who struggles with basic physics problems and never seems to catch enough sleep. The girl who shared her living space with him is Ladybug.

_Lady. Bug._

Wait a second.

None of this is even remotely okay. Ladybug is a seventeen-year-old teenage girl. He’s been fighting her for _years_. Ladybug is and has been a teenage girl for the duration of their—their—their _what_? He’s been fighting a teenage girl all these years; can he even call himself a supervillain? Does he even have a right to define what he’s been doing all these years?

Dear lord. What if Chat Noir is _also_ a teenager? Two teenagers have successfully foiled his plots time and time again, defeated hundreds of akuma, and are still alive and kicking. Of course, part of it is the miraculous they wield, but. Teenagers. A couple of teenagers have been outwitting him for years. _Years_. What’s that supposed to say about him?

He’s old enough to be their father! He’s probably older than both of their ages _combined_. Hawk Moth would’ve called it bullying had he not been the one getting soundly trounced.

He’s been living with Ladybug.

Ladybug’s civilian identity is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The worst part is, he was actually starting to think she was one of the better human beings he’s come into contact with.

…

 _The miraculous_.

Hawk Moth needs it. If not because he’s always needed it, then because this is the most humiliating event of his entire life and he needs to rectify it somehow. Logically speaking, besides this all being horribly embarrassing, he’s in the prime position to take it. Ladybug trusts him. He’s a _cat_. Taking Ladybug’s miraculous will be a _cat_ walk in the park, maybe literally.

…Dear lord, Chat Noir is (possibly) a seventeen-year-old teenage boy who runs around in a leather suit making puns—cat puns especially. Hawk Moth mentally takes back his previous cat pun and replaces it with something bakery appropriate—like cakewalk. Much better.

This is a mess.

Well, he has an hour or two before Ladybug gets back. That’s probably enough time to reconsolidate his mental state, right? This is the most unsure of himself Hawk Moth has ever been, and so of course it has to be because of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Two teenagers who save Paris on a regular basis.

He’s not going to get used to this.

* * *

It doesn’t take an hour. It doesn’t take two. It takes three hours to subdue the akuma—or at least, that’s what Hawk Moth thinks has happened. Ladybug slips back into her room through the trap door, her suit fading back into her usual wear in a burst of pink.

“That,” she begins, muffled by the cat pillow she’s squishing, “was exhausting.”

A nonsensical murmur comes from beside her. Hawk Moth suspects this is her kwami, who has done an admirable job of hiding so far. But now that the gig’s up…

The butterfly miraculous is obvious around his neck. Whether or not the kwami can sense Nooroo from it is irrelevant; it is an active miraculous, and the owner of it—well, the _current_ owner being the one who stole it—is known. It’s him. Hawk Moth. Who is a cat.

He wonders what kwami tastes like, because there’s no way he can let this humiliating experience get around. He’d lose all his pride as a miraculous user—he’d lose all his pride as a _man_. Kwami are not usually giving creatures, ironically enough, but seeing as he’s currently their enemy—

The girl— _Ladybug_ —pushes herself off the mattress. She looks like she’ll fall over any second now, but still makes the effort to climb down the ladder and lower herself to the floor. “I’ll grab some cookies for you, Tikki,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone, stumbling out the door.

Well, if there’s any time to eat a kwami, it would be now.

Hawk Moth clammers up the ladder, pounces on the mattress and bears his fangs. The red and black kwami is soundly trapped under his paw, but her gaze is lazy and expression unbothered.

“Hello, Hawk Moth,” she says.

“Bug,” he spits, “ _Ladybug_.”

“It’s Tikki,” the kwami corrects. “And I’d appreciate it if you would remove your paw.”

“And why would I do that?”

Ladybug’s kwami dares to smile. “Not very smart, are you?” And then she phased through the mattress, disappearing from view.

Hawk Moth snarls. He leaps off the bed, not even bothering to use the ladder in his rage. Is she inside the mattress? Under it? His head swivels, ears rotating to try and find the red bug. But it’s a hopeless matter—she’s stayed hidden in this room from him for days. He’s lived here and he never even noticed a hint of her existence. Who says Chat Noir is the only one capable of stealth? He’ll claw their face off!

“For one,” the kwami says, appearing right behind him, “It’s rude.”

Hawk Moth swipes at her. She dodges like she’s done it a million times before.

“For two, Marinette is _very_ fast with my cookies.”

The door swings open, and lo-and-behold, there’s Ladybug in her civilian form carrying a plate of cookies. Hawk Moth freezes on his second swing, standing stock-still on his hind legs to reach the flying kwami. 

“Papillon!” the girl gasps, “No! Tikki is not food!”

She hurries over after setting the plate down and swipes him up into her arms. Her kwami shoots him a particularly smug smile behind her back before flying over to her cookies.

Hawk Moth wants to claw both of them apart. Mainly the kwami.

“Tikki is a friend,” Ladybug is saying. _No_ , Hawk Moth thinks, _she’s not. Neither are you._ “Not food! She’s not a toy either!”

“It’s alright, Marinette,” the kwami says, breaking her cookie into small chunks before tossing them into her mouth, “He couldn’t catch me if he tried.”

“Still!” the girl exclaims. “You’ve been hiding ever since I got him…it’s not fair if you have to escape being eaten, too. You both live here, so I want you two to get along!”

Hawk Moth hisses. The girl frowns and her kwami laughs.

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. He’s probably just feeling a little territorial right now, yes?”

“Are you sure? He’s practically squirming out of my arms! He’s never done this before, even when Alya came over…”

“Trust me,” the kwami says. She has the audacity to _wink_ at him, to which he answers with a long, extended growl. “I know a thing or two about cats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't update for the last few days because I was trying to decide whether or not this was what I really wanted. Reveal this early? Hmmmm
> 
> Eventually I just went "Hell yeah!" and stuck with the original plan. For those of you who wanted it a bit more drawn out, sorry, but I don't think Papillon will wait that long haha


	8. Tikki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth once again fails to steal Ladybug's miraculous. In other news, paper floats. #JustHawkwardThings

It’s night. Ladybug has gone to sleep hours ago—exhausted from dealing with the akuma, no doubt, and that’s the only thing he’ll ever thank Papillon for.

In her exhausted state, stealing her miraculous is a simple matter. Hawk Moth climbs up the ladder to her bed, silent as can be, and then stalks along the mattress until he’s mere inches away from her earrings. So mundane, Hawk Moth muses, just as the other untransformed miraculous are.

Red must have been too eye-catching, so the ladybug miraculous is a glossy black—the shade of the cat miraculous in its transformed state. His own is a dark purple locket untransformed—not necessarily the most inconspicuous of things, true, but certainly more than a butterfly brooch.

This is it. Ladybug’s miraculous is within his reach. _This is it_.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Hawk Moth, paw outstretched, hisses. “ _Bug_.”

“I told you, it’s Tikki,” the kwami says. “You should stop.”

“Because you’ll wake your chosen?” Hawk Moth sneers. “I’ll be long gone with the miraculous by then.”

“If you take it, Marinette can’t transform into Ladybug. And what do you think will happen without Ladybug?”

“I’ll be free to take Chat Noir’s miraculous, obviously.”

The kwami disagrees. “No,” she says, watching him with eyes as old as time, “ _You’ll_ be stuck as a cat.”

That sounds dangerously close to being true. Hawk Moth pauses. She could be lying to him. Nooroo hasn’t, but that’s because he’s never given him room to lie to him. He runs the scenario through his head—taking the ladybug miraculous, stealing the cat’s, fusing them both and defeating Papillon. But there _is_ one thing he hasn’t considered.

He is a cat. He will be a cat until, presumably, Papillon is defeated—but he can’t defeat Papillon in this form. He can’t even call upon the butterfly miraculous’ power in this form, so why would he be able to with any other?

It makes too much sense. Still, he doesn’t retreat. This is too dangerous. If Ladybug’s kwami tells her that he’s Hawk Moth, then—

“You understand, then.”

Hawk Moth glares. “I don’t need Ladybug.”

“You do,” says the kwami with her infernal knowing eyes. “The only way you can return to normal is if your akuma is purified and the Miraculous Cure is used to reverse the damage. It’s the only way to do so without repercussions—a true miracle, if you will. But you already know that.”

“And yet, if I leave your miraculous with your chosen, I’ll _still_ be in danger.”

Ladybug’s kwami hums. “Who says? I have no intention of telling Marinette who you are. Well, as long as you’re non-hostile, that is.”

Hawk Moth doesn’t believe her. Still, he counters with, “Ah, but of course. You kwami never tell anyone anything, secretive bunch that you are. Useless, the lot of you, even to your own chosen.”

Just like Ladybug, the kwami remains calm. She doesn’t bristle at his barbs, nor does she deny them. “You sound very bitter, but that’s none of my business. As long as you don’t harm my chosen, I’ll let things precede as they are now.”

“And Chat Noir?” he asks. “All I need is Ladybug’s Miraculous Cure. The cat I can do without—what’s to stop me from stealing his miraculous?”

The kwami giggles as if the mere idea that he can is a joke. Hawk Moth would’ve growled at her if he didn’t want Ladybug to wake up.

“Chat Noir can handle himself,” she says. “Plagg may not be all too responsible, but there _are_ things he takes seriously. The miraculous is one of them. If you do manage to steal it, I’ll be impressed—so, feel free to try.”

His tail lashes. He’s so close, so close he can taste it, and yet there’s practically an ocean-wide distance between him and his goal. It’s so frustrating he just wants to rip everything in range to shreds, but he has patience. He has self-control. Hawk Moth, after all, wouldn’t be Hawk Moth if he didn’t have these things. It’s how he stole the butterfly miraculous and it’s how he’s going to steal Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s.

“You shouldn’t underestimate Marinette,” remarks the kwami when she sees his gaze trail to the earrings again. “She’s a lot stronger than she looks. Capable, too—as you already know.”

“I have the advantage.”

Ladybug’s kwami smiles. It’s too nice of a smile to be real, but there it is. “You’re underestimating her. Not very smart, are you?” she repeats.

This time, Hawk Moth _does_ lunge for her. Their ruckus wakes Ladybug with a start, and for the first time since being picked up, the girl locks him in the bathroom for the night.

* * *

“Tikki is _not_ food,” Ladybug is saying, tapping him on the nose as they go through ‘remedial lessons.’ “She’s my friend, and I don’t want you two fighting either!”

The beginnings of a growl form in his throat. Ladybug sprits him with a spray bottle.

“ _No_ , Papillon.” For the first time, he sees the essence of her superhero persona in her civilian self. The girl levels him with the stare she usually gives to akuma—cold, hard, the stare of a leader. And, to be certain, she is. This is her room, her home, her space. He is the guest, the foreigner, the outsider to intrude or be welcomed. That control is in Ladybug’s hands, and Ladybug’s alone.

“No,” she repeats. “If you can’t get along with Tikki, then _we_ can’t get along either. My promise to put you in a good home still stands, but you can’t stay here if this continues. I know you can understand me, so do we have an accord?”

Begrudgingly, Hawk Moth dips his head. His ears flatten, his tail droops. Only then does the girl nod in satisfaction and pat his head.

“We’ll try this again,” she says.

When he looks back up, her kwami smiles at him. It’s not a victorious smile or a smug smile, a mocking smile or a condescending smile—it’s just a smile: tiny, pleased, and a little too all-knowing for his liking. Coming from an over five-thousand-year-old god, that last part should be expected, but still.

This is exactly why he hates kwami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry we'll get back to fluff soon enough. Unfortunately plot is necessary for ~*~*~*~*~ _character development_ ~*~*~*~*~, who knew?


	9. Roleplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth goes through his rebellious stage.

Things are tense afterwards. Ladybug, because apparently Papillon figured out what he was doing and started to make more akuma, is in a perpetual state of exhaustion, and Hawk Moth is still wary. He waits for the pin to drop, waits to be thrown out, waits for the kwami to say something and his enemy to toss him off the Eiffel Tower.

He is Hawk Moth. She—the girl—is Ladybug. They have been enemies for years and the mere thought that he’d have to be in her good graces to survive disturbs him, to put it lightly. It’s like wearing the itchiest, scratchiest Christmas sweater while standing on the pavement barefoot in the middle of a heat wave, stuck as everyone around him is drinking raspberry iced teas and eating strawberry gelato from that one popular joint two blocks down, and he can’t even akumatize anyone because no one’s down on their luck except for him. Oh, and he has fleas.

Thank small mercies that he _doesn’t_ have fleas. Ugh.

Wait, no, that’s not the point. The point is, he hates everything that Ladybug represents—justice, safety, superhero happy endings and all that rot. She’s good luck, Lady Fortune whom fate can do no wrong to. She makes miracles with a flick of the wrist and a jubilant shout. She is victory personified, and anyone who opposes her knows.

The sun shines on her as it never will again for him, and he hates the way he can’t even touch her shadow. Ladybug is the hero of Paris, and he, as the villain, is not allowed to win.

It doesn’t matter if she’s a teenage girl beneath the mask. It doesn’t matter if her luck comes from a tiny red and black god. It doesn’t matter if she didn’t ask for the miraculous; in fact, that might make it even worse. In the end, she will never know the taste of failure, and he will forever live with it in his mouth. That is the destiny written, the destiny Hawk Moth aims to break.

Ladybug is Ladybug. The girl who lends her body to the suit—yes, her, Marinette, _her_ —is his enemy out of association. Hawk Moth is sure.

“Papillon,” she calls, bringing in a bowl of food.

He does not come. He never does, anymore.

The girl sighs. She places it down, pointedly walks to the bathroom, and shuts the door. Only then does he come over to eat.

He won’t trust her anymore—can’t trust her. She doesn’t _know_ , but the luck stitched into her skin might. Good luck for her means bad luck for him, and that he is specifically a black cat is not lost on him. Perhaps it is her power, warning her off from her hidden adversary. Whatever the case may be, he must be careful.

He’s in enemy territory, now.

* * *

Since he knows who Ladybug is, there’s no more point to hero-watching. Still, climbing up to the balcony gives him fresh air and a chance to be away from her. Being in the same room is stifling. All he can think is _Ladybug, Ladybug, Ladybug_. She who opposes him at every turn. She who stands in the way of his goal. She, a seventeen-year-old girl, is all that’s stopping him from—

“Papillon?”

Hawk Moth sighs. So much for being alone.

The girl stumbles. She’s grace personified as Ladybug, but somehow being a civilian makes her the definition of clumsy. He doesn’t understand it at all. Eventually, she settles herself a respectable distance away from him, but the direction of her eyes clearly explains her purpose here.

“Did I do something wrong?” she finally asks, resting her chin on her knees. “Did I do something to make you angry with me?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Alya says cats are moody in general,” she continues, “But. I mean. I don’t know. I don’t think that’s it.”

“You’re Ladybug,” he says, not in the French that he can no longer enunciate, but in the cat’s tongue that speaks with more than just sounds. “And as long as you’re Ladybug, she’ll be dead.”

She doesn’t understand. Of course she doesn’t; this is exactly why he tells her in the first place.

“Hey, Papillon…”

His ears twitch.

“D-do you—do you not like me anymore?”

He turns to face her. She is seventeen: still a child, still young and fresh and bright and new. He sees in her a bit of someone he knew once, long ago—an entire lifetime ago, one could say. Her eyes wide, eager to please and be praised…scared, unsure, hesitant but too stubborn not to try. Like a child, she tugged on his sleeve and said those same exact words.

It isn’t fair. She even has her smile—the exact one he gave up, the one he exchanged in hopes of another.

_There will be sacrifices. There will always be sacrifices._

And yet…

“I thought so,” the girl whispers. “I—that’s okay. I don’t know what you went through; probably something I did reminded you of it, right? I’m sorry. If I hurt you, I’m sorry, Papillon. I—well, I just thought we could be friends, you know? There’s Alya, and Nino, a-and A-Adrien, but. They don’t know. About Tikki. And she told me not to tell you for a while, so I didn’t, but then, now that you know… _I’m so stupid_!”

Hawk Moth jumps. He doesn’t expect it when the girl shouts, doesn’t expect it when she buries her head in her arms, doesn’t expect it when she starts _crying_.

“Y-you’re a cat,” she says, intermittently sniffling, “But. Still I. Even _this_ , being Ladybug ruins for me. I love being Ladybug. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world—but as long as Ladybug exists, _Marinette_ can never be honest to her friends. A-and just look at this! _Look at this_! Even with a _cat_ , I—I’m cursed. Really, I am. Apparently the universe wants no one to know that I’m Ladybug, even a _cat_ , otherwise I’ll just. Lose everyone—”

Hawk Moth is staring. He knows he’s staring. Well, he’s no stranger to a girl’s tears—and that sounds cruel, but it isn’t that way, he swears—but it’s been awhile since he’s dealt with them. For the last several years he’s been accustomed to taking advantage of sorrow, not trying to dispel it. And does he even want to dispel it? This is _Ladybug_.

He should be ecstatic that she’s an emotional mess!

The only problem is, he’s currently a cat. Who knew that changed things so much?

“The one time my parents let me have a pet, and I can’t even keep him,” she’s saying, rubbing at her eyes. “This is the worst. I’m sorry you have to see this, Papillon—I-I’m so tired, and things are just, _the akuma are so strong_ , and I don’t think I can keep up, but Paris needs me, and this isn’t the time to be mad at Ladybug, and, and, and—”

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he does. Hawk Moth slinks forward, the closest they’ve been in days. Then, he reaches out and places a paw on her bare leg.

She scoops him up in her arms and embraces him. He thinks he feels something wet hit his fur, and he definitely smells the salt of her tears. Now more than ever, he is once again made aware that she is young—so, so, so young. If he loses himself to his memories, he thinks he can see her with longer hair, all smiles and sun as she waves to him and the one beside him.

Gone, gone, gone. She fears losing everyone; for him, everyone he loves is already lost.

So he lets her cry until there are no more tears left, because he thinks, if he really thinks, if his mind doesn’t stop him and he forgets all about the little black earrings she’s wearing—he sees a bit of someone else in her, just enough to remind himself he has a soul.

* * *

The next time she calls for him, it takes a while, but he comes—if only, of course, to ensure Ladybug isn’t defeated before she can turn him back into a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops my finger slipped on the angst button kinda
> 
> it's ok tho Cat Moth will stop panicking once he realizes there is N.O. reason to panic. Like at all. He's not even at the disco, why panic??? ...even tho Ladybug is cleaning his litter boxokay maybe he'll panic a bit more about that off-screen
> 
> back2nonsense next chapter


	10. Sleeping In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth finds his new purpose as Marinette's alarm clock.

Ladybug’s kwami keeps her promise. Her chosen doesn’t know he’s her archenemy in disguise, and in fact isn’t aware that he’s a human at all. He’s just an unusually smart, moody cat—her Papillon, tentatively a friend.

Hawk Moth can work with this.

It’s easier to think of the girl as a fellow victim to the kwami’s whims. She is a victim of Ladybug, pushed into a role she was and perhaps still is much too young for. Once he steals her miraculous, she can go back to the normal life she would’ve had—before Tikki, before Hawk Moth, before akuma and before yoyos were anything but children’s toys. Soon, but not yet. And this is fine.

What is decidedly _not_ fine is Marinette sleeping to noon on a weekend.

Hawk Moth casts another glance at his empty food bowl. Something needs to be done about this.

As is becoming constant by now, Hawk Moth climbs up the ladder and leaps onto the mattress. His body doesn’t make much of a dent in the pile of blankets; in fact, he doesn’t move her at all. The girl sleeps on, totally dead to the world, and now he needs to think up a better plan. For a superhero with killer reflexes, Marinette is a surprisingly deep sleeper.

First he tries to pull her blankets off, but there are simply too many of them. He manages the first layer before struggling with the second—her grip is iron tight, and he doubts even her large father could pull them off. Next, he tries walking on her. With the first layer of blankets gone, he can actually see the outline of her body stretched out on her side.

It takes a little maneuvering before he finds his balance, and then it’s a simple matter of walking back and forth, back and forth. His paws push into the soft sheets, promenading across the contours of her body at varying speeds. When she shifts, he almost falls off, but Hawk Moth leaps back up and starts all over again. It’s working. He _knows_ it’s working—he just needs something a little more attention grabbing, and then she’ll wake up for good.

He meows. It sounds downright pitiful, but he’s hungry damn it. The girl murmurs something that doesn’t sound like words at all, and then her entire body shifts as she curls up into a fetal position, throwing the sheets over her head to block out the sound. She successfully knocks him off her body, but Hawk Moth—after a rather embarrassing yelp—just scowls and walks back over, pressing at her head with his paws.

“Wake up,” he demands, but she sleeps on.

Then he tries pouncing on her. He temporarily retreats to the edge of the bed, eyes his target, crouches, and then kicks off. What he doesn’t expect is to be grabbed midflight—and be treated like a teddy bear!

Humiliating. His tail lashes, but her grip still holds.

“Sleep,” Marinette mumbles.

“Absolutely not! Wake up; it’s almost noon!”

She grumbles. Hawk Moth starts meowing again; stuck with him in her embrace, there’s no way she can avoid the sound now.

“St _ooo_ p…”

“Not until you get up and make me some food.”

She wouldn’t understand if she was awake, so she definitely doesn’t understand now. Still, that doesn’t stop Hawk Moth from talking. He’s hungry, annoyed, and a little bit humiliated it’s ended up like this. She’s not even Ladybug right now and she _still_ bests him. The girl could probably sleep through a fire, but throw something at her—like a cat, in this case—and she catches it? In her sleep?

Superheroes make no sense. The least she could do is be more consistent.

Hawk Moth gets an idea. He doesn’t want to do it, but it’s his last option. So he does.

He pokes his nose against hers, and then he licks her.

The effect is instantaneous. Marinette shoots right up, befuddled as she scrubs at her spit-slicked nose. “Huh? Whazzis—Papillon!”

He can’t believe she made him do that. He can’t believe she made him _lick her_ to wake up. Hawk Moth decides he won’t forgive her until he gets breakfast _and_ lunch—as well as some tuna cookies. Those wouldn’t hurt.

A significant glance to his food bowl then back gets the message across. Faced with his disapproving glare, the girl yelps, slides down the ladder, stumbles to fetch his empty bowl, and then yells a, “Oh my God I’m so sorry Papillon, _givemeaminute_!” before slamming the door behind her.

Ha. Serves her right.

Then he turns to eye the little kwami bed made especially for Tikki. The damned bug is still snuggled up under her blankets, fast asleep despite the commotion.

So that’s where she gets it from. Feeling particularly vindictive, Hawk Moth pads over, raises his paw, and slams it down with the intent to flip the bed over—

And fails. The kwami is nowhere to be seen.

“Rude,” Tikki says, rubbing at her eyes as she floats a good head above him. “I could start waking _you_ up that way, if you like.”

“ _Bug_ ,” he hisses. “If you were awake, why didn’t you wake her up?”

Ladybug’s kwami has the nerve to smile. “It’s a weekend. She deserves to sleep in a little, no? You should try napping with us sometime!”

“Absolutely _not_.”

“Hmm. Suit yourself. Marinette is a wonderful cuddler.”

Then she goes right back to fixing her bed and settling down to sleep. Hawk Moth is disgusted at her gross negligence. There are so many things wrong with her offer that he won’t even start. Instead, he leaps down to the floor and waits for his food, listening to the bustle of the bakery below. He’s sure she’s going to come up with a plate of cookies for her kwami, too.

* * *

The meal is delicious. Marinette has enough sense to give him some treats as an apology, so he _does_ get his tuna cookies. Hawk Moth wonders if he can ask her for the recipe once this is over, and then almost smacks himself because _this is just a cat craving, I’ll be disgusted when I’m human again_.

For now…

_Crunch, crunch._

“Mmm,” Marinette hums, sitting on her swivel chair the wrong way around. Her elbows rest along the backing, arms holding her chin up as her gaze eyes his claws. “Maybe I should get you a scratching post?”

Hawk Moth thinks about it a beat longer than he wants to. The fact that he doesn’t immediately hiss at the idea leaves the discussion open for a later time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yamielsun said:
>
>> my cat wakes me up walking over me when i somehow sleep though food time to remind me to feed her. :V
> 
> I could see Marinette doing this. So, she did. :p
> 
> Also, still no hide nor hair of Adrien. Where the gosh darnit is that boy? Well, it's not like it's his fault. Hawk Moth doesn't get out much. If he ever played a Harvest Moon game, he'd be the type of guy who's on year 3 winter with 0 wife and all black hearts. His farm would be great tho. I could see it.


	11. Windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth chases after butterflies (haha, no one start a crack ship okay) and Marinette is reminded that being a superhero does not pay well...or at all, actually.

_It’s still on the window._

Hawk Moth glares at it. The butterfly’s been on and around the window for the last five minutes, maybe longer. At first he thinks it’s some sort of omen—a spy, maybe, for Papillon?—but after careful observation, it really is just a normal butterfly. That’s probably what ticks him off the most about it, to be honest. Normalcy. Coincidence.

 _Nothing_ is a coincidence with Ladybug, so why should there be any coincidences at all with her civilian self? That’s why, he thinks, this butterfly has got to go. If it’s not here on his orders, then that means it could be on someone else’s—even if it’s a normal butterfly.

Never. Trust. Anything.

So he watches it. Glares at it. Records its every move. There aren’t any flowers on the girl’s windowsill, so there is absolutely no reason for this butterfly to be up three stories high when there are at least ten other gardens it could be visiting. He’s right to be suspicious, he knows; he’s right. He can’t let it find out any secrets that will harm him. The girl can’t be Ladybug if her civilian self is targeted! Yes, he has to be vigilant for her because she sure as Hell isn’t.

Hawk Moth spares a second to glance at her. Still scrolling through another fashion blog, apparently…completely vulnerable…

(He ignores the fact that it previously took him a week to find out her secret identity. It would’ve been longer, too, if that akuma hadn’t shown up.)

The butterfly moves. Hawk Moth snaps his attention back to the bug—it flutters, only to land in another spot on the window. He swears the damn thing is mocking him, with its bright orange wings and black spots— _ugh, spots_!—twitching antennae and long, spindly legs...and then, and _then_ there it is again! That accursed flutter! One wing flap, and then the butterfly relocates itself somewhere else.

It’s like it’s lost. Hawk Moth wonders what it would feel like to have it in the clutches of his paws, defenseless and so easily crushed with the smallest amount of pressure…What does butterfly taste like? Probably not better than tuna cookies, but that’s unfair because nothing is better than tuna cookies.

But unlike motionless treats laid out on a plate for him, the butterfly _moves_. It doesn’t even know he’s here, imagine that! Someone could pounce on it and it’d never even know…

It flutters again. Hawk Moth follows its path with his eyes, watching it take an awkward squiggle downward.

Almost. _Almost_ …

Just a _little_ closer…

And—now!

 _Smack_.

“ _Papillon_!”

…Oh my God, he did not just do that. He did _not_ just do that. Someone tell him he didn’t just do that, because he did _not_ just do that! He is a fifty-year-old dignified, perfectly sane man, there is definitely no way that he did that. He did not just act like some—some—some out-of-control wild beast!

His nose hurts and he’s pretty sure he let out a loud, embarrassing yowl at the time of impact. But! But even with that evidence, Hawk Moth swears up and down, Heaven to Earth to Hell that what just happened did not just happen. No. It didn’t. As long as there aren’t any witnesses, it didn’t happen. 

Marinette leaps off her chair and picks him right up. “Are you okay? What were you trying to—”

Tikki giggles. The butterfly flutters away.

(There are witnesses.)

“You saw nothing,” Hawk Moth grumbles. His nose is slightly sore, but not as much as his dignity is. He just wants to forget this ever happened—another day, another item added to the list it seems—like he hadn’t just tried to catch a butterfly, like he hadn’t just failed and bumped into the window instead.

This is terrible. He just wants to curl up in his soft, cushioned bed and _die_.

“… _Oh my God_ ,” the girl mutters. She looks back and forth between him and her closed—yes, closed, where there is a wall of glass between him and the outside world; that’s what closed means and he understands that, he does, just apparently not five seconds ago—window. Then, she snorts. Soon enough she’s joining her kwami in muffled laughter and poorly hidden grins.

“I hate you both,” Hawk Moth declares. He clambers out of her arms and toward her bed, so he can hide beneath the pile of blankets for the next year or so.

“S-sorry, Papillon,” Marinette says, covering her mouth with a hand as she fails to reach for him with the other. “Come back! I’m not laughing at you! I swear!”

“Oh really?” he tries to drawl, but it comes out more offended than he would’ve liked. Good thing she doesn’t understand anyway—at least _some_ of his dignity can remain intact. Fine, there are two witnesses, but one is a girl who doesn’t know who he is and the other is a kwami that he can make suffer later, so that’s okay. He can deal with that.

“ _Marinette_?” Sabine calls from downstairs. “ _What was that sound?_ ”

Dear lord, he _cannot_ deal with this. Hawk Moth pops his head out from under the blankets and shoots the girl his meanest, most threatening glare he can muster, but her pink blankets and the fact that he just pounced head first into a closed window does little to help his image.

“U-um—” She smothers another giggle, “—N-nothing, mom!”

“At least you redirected the butterfly back to her balcony,” Tikki says, floating down to sit next to him. “You did a good deed! I’m sure it’s very happy to find the flowers again.”

Right. Balcony. There are flowers on the balcony. Flowers attract butterflies. Note to self: flowers on the third floor are just as attractive as flowers on the ground. Also, there are flowers on the third floor. Expect to see butterflies.

Hawk Moth hates his life.

* * *

“—I don’t really have any cat toys,” the girl is saying, talking to her best friend over the phone. She has a frown on her face as she spins on her desk chair. “And I leave him at home for so long, he’s probably bored to death! But I don’t really have the money to buy much…especially after the initial stuff…”

Okay, just because he bumps into a window _one time_ does not mean he’s bored! Well, actually, he kind of is, but Hawk Moth is not a cat. He doesn’t need cat toys to entertain him—he doesn’t need entertainment at all! Time is better used in a productive manner, like planning how to steal the miraculous or defeat Papillon.

He does _not_ need to lose more of his dignity, thanks.

 _“We can’t all be Chloé Bourgeois_ ,” Alya says, agreeing. _“So what are you going to do? Just stop buying fabric for a couple of months?”_

Marinette sighs. “I guess,” she mutters. “I’ll just put my upcoming projects on hold. I mean, scratching posts are kind of important for cats, right? And I don’t even have one of those. So that should be my first big purchase next. I don’t want to get him some puny cheap one, either—he’s a pretty big cat.”

A scratching post _does_ sound nice…Ugh. But the idea that he has to be tended to by the girl brushes his fur the wrong way. Forcing her to sacrifice her interests and priorities in order to take care of a cat she won’t be owning for very long anyway makes him uncomfortable. He is a grown man, and she a child—he can deal without a scratching post.

Hawk Moth’s eyes flicker down to his paws. His tail flicks.

Maybe.

 _“Yeah, I get what you mean,”_ Alya replies. “ _Oh, hey, wait! I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you do some commissions to raise money?”_

Marinette blinks. “Commissions?”

_“Yeah, sure. Like some artists are open to commissions, and charge different amounts depending on what their customer wants—color, size, etc. Y’know? Girl, you could totally do that!”_

“I’m more of a designer than an artist,” she mutters, shifting. “That’s more Nathanael’s thing.”

_“Then make something and sell that!”_

“I don’t know, Alya…what would I even make that would sell? Clothes are…I mean, they would only pay me after I finish the product, right? So the fabric, on top of time and labor…I’d have to make two. One to display, then another with the customer’s sizes. But I’d only be getting paid for one. It’s just a bit…”

_“Hmm…”_

Hawk Moth watches as she shrugs and makes another spin. “And it’s not like I have followers or reviews already or anything. Like, how would I attract customers if no one even knows my name? It takes time to build a reputation, and I kind of need the money _now_ , y’know? So I don’t really think this whole commission thing will—”

_“Wait.”_

Marinette blinks. “Alya?”

_“Wait.”_

“Um, sure?”

_“Wait.”_

Hawk Moth rolls his eyes. Teenagers, honestly.

“Alya, I’m literally not doing anything else but waiting,” she says. They’re on the same page, then. “What?”

_“What about you make Ladybug and Chat Noir merch?”_

What.

“…What?”

 _“Think about it!”_ the Ladyblogger exclaims, rushing through her sentences as her excitement gains. “ _If you make Ladybug and Chat Noir stuff, I can advertise it on the Ladyblog! In fact, you can_ sell _through the Ladyblog! Free advertisement! And I can guarantee quality too, because obviously I know you and obviously I can see the real deal up close! All of Paris is crazy about Ladybug—I mean, who wouldn’t be, right?—but so’s only the rest of the world! Girl, you’ll make_ bank _. Trust me._ ”

“W-well, okay, but what would I even _make_? I kinda don’t have the money for fabric right now—”

_“Well, how about those dolls? Those are pretty cute! Just make a few of those, and we can say you have a limited number of them so gotta buy fast! Then if reception is good, you can make more, and make a few akuma or something for collectors.”_

“Collectors?” Marinette sputters. “Alya, I don’t really think my work is—”

 _“Girl, trust me._ _It. Is._ ”

“But—”

The Ladyblog writer just steamrolls right over. _“And okay, if you don’t want to make dolls, what about key chains? Start out small so the production cost is small, and then once you get customers—like I know you will—that’ll be proof that people like your stuff, and you can make bigger things. Then once you get the funds for fabric or yarn or what-have-you, make accessories or clothes or something. People go batshit_ insane _for Ladybug merch—Hell,_ I _would go batshit insane for Ladybug merch! I have! C’mon, Papillon needs you!”_

“…I’ll think about it.”

_“Good. I and my loyal Ladybloggers will be waiting.”_

* * *

“It’s a good opportunity,” her kwami says, smiling. “Who knows Ladybug better than Ladybug? People will love your work, Marinette!”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “It’s just…making merchandise of myself is kinda, well, weird? The doll was okay because that’s just, well, in my room, but _selling_?”

“You could make Chat Noir merchandise, then,” Tikki says, round eyes glinting.

Marinette flushes. “Ugh! But what if he sees it? What if he finds out _Ladybug_ made it? He’ll never let me live it down!”

“He’ll be flattered!”

“He’ll flirt and make more puns!” The girl groans. “I can just imagine it. ‘Why, my lady, I’m flattered! This is just _fabrulous_!’ or, ‘My lady, do you have a _needle_ crush on me?’ or even, ‘You sure have an eye for detail. I a- _claw-_ d you!’ He’ll be insufferable and I’ll hate every minute of it.”

Well, that’s as good as any confirmation that Chat Noir’s also a teenager. Hawk Moth snorts. He personally would’ve used _a wing-derful job well done_ , but that’s just him.

“Ugh,” the girl groans again. She rests her crossed arms on the back of her chair, swiveling around to face him instead. “What do you think, Papillon?”

He thinks about it. “It’s either a scratching post or your chaise,” he says. “My nails are getting a bit long.”

Tikki is all too happy to translate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon "I wish" said:
>
>> My cat always runs into windows
> 
> ...WELP. Sorry Cat Moth.
> 
> Also, if you haven't already (but how have you not, like seriously), I highly recommend the ML fic Boutique by JulyCentury. We'll be taking Marinette's commissions in another direction--Cat Moth, have you ever seen a ball of yarn before?--but still. That fic is the bomb despite only being 4 chapters in. Crosses fingers that it may be continued at some point!


	12. Chat Noir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth third wheels for what won't be the last time.

Very rarely, there are times Hawk Moth is present for important conversations.

“I don’t know how Hawk Moth is doing it, but he’s making akuma when The Doubler is still out there. That goes against _everything_ we know about him!”

Ladybug’s kwami doesn’t deny it. “It’s very strange,” she agrees. “Too bad The Doubler seems to have gone into hiding.”

Marinette sighs. “Yeah. No matter how many patrols Chat and I go on, we still haven’t found a trace of him. The recent akuma have been really strong, too. Agh, I feel so useless…”

“Don’t think like that! It’s better to be vigilant than lax. You’re doing a great job, Marinette.” Tikki gets a wan smile for her efforts.

“At least we’re still managing to purify them, somehow. Ready for patrol?”

“Ready!”                                                                                                         

“Alright then. Tikki, _transf_ —Papillon?”

Hawk Moth stops her with a pounce. It’s a split second decision he makes, probably because he’s tired of hiding with second-hand information. He’s gone from days filled with watching Paris to perpetually nothing, and the difference chafes under his skin like an off-tune Christmas carol. It’s dangerous to go outside where he can be spotted, but he really doesn’t have a choice at this point.

After all, Ladybug doesn’t know what she’s looking for. Hawk Moth, on the other hand, _does_. Besides, while he can’t use his miraculous, he’s familiar with how the magic feels. If either The Doubler or Papillon are roaming about using their powers, he’ll know.

“Y-you want to come with us?”

Marinette is skeptical. Hawk Moth, however, insists.

“But it’s dangerous! I can’t really carry you with both arms, you know.”

“I’m going,” he says, and with that, he climbs right up the girl’s arm to curl around her shoulders like a scarf. The position feels almost right to him, a puzzle piece that’s clicked into place—physically, her shoulders are slim and his body is an awkward fit, but there’s something about settling in that makes him feel like he’s made the right choice.

Perhaps it’s the pull all miraculous users feel to one another.

“This is a bad idea,” Ladybug mutters, and she repeats it once more when she ascends to her balcony. “A really, really bad idea.”

Hawk Moth flicks his tail. It tickles Ladybug’s nose, though she manages to brush it off without a sneeze.

“Geez, fine. I get it already! But if you fall, I’m doubling back and locking the trap door.”

“You’re the literal representation of good luck,” Hawk Moth drawls. “I won’t fall.”

Unlike her kwami, Ladybug doesn’t speak cat, but it almost feels like she does when she says, “Don’t jinx it. You’re the literal representation of bad luck, after all.”

* * *

“My lady! Nice neck warmer. It’s really the cat’s meo—that’s a cat.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, accepting the kiss to her hand and taking it back when he freezes. “Yes, _chaton_. Excellent observation.”

Hawk Moth curls even tighter around her neck. He blinks, eyes fixed on the other black cat that joins them on the roof tonight. If anything, this confuses Chat Noir even more. He takes a little bit of joy out of that expression—it’s a good day when the villain derails the hero for once. It’d be even better if he could use the opportunity to steal his miraculous, but Hawk Moth is more realistic than that.

“That’s _literally_ a cat around your neck.”

Ladybug sighs. “I’m aware.”

Chat squints. “…Is this a set up for a cat joke?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well then. In that case, your scarf is very _fur-_ lattering—”

Ladybug groans. “Chat, no.”

“Chat _yes_. If my eyes don’t deceive me, it’s probably made out of the best _fur_ -abric around! One-hundred percent _cat_ ton, perhaps?” He grins, circling her with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle to top it all off. His circle is so close that his arms brush hers, and for a moment, Hawk Moth swears that pathetic excuse for a tail brushes her thigh. “I bet you get asked a _meow_ llion of times where you bought it.”

“All I’m getting is a _meow_ tain of puns,” Ladybug mutters, and instantly regrets it when her partner’s eyes light up.

Chat grins and pulls her close. “Why, my lady, of course! I have an a _bugn_ dance of them reserved expressly for your hearing pleasure!”

“Are you done yet?”

“Wait, one more. How do you keep a fur scarf looking as good as new?”

“Ugh. How?”

“By _mane_ taining it!”

Ladybug removes the hand around her waist, pushes away, and pulls out her yoyo. “I’m leaving.”

…These are the superheroes of Paris that defeat him on a regular basis? He always thought Chat Noir just made bad puns to anger his akuma. It’s the same old trick that never fails to do its job—as humiliating as that is, it’s also very true; maybe akumatization decreases resistance to bad jokes, because every champion he makes always falls for them—but that’s just it. Hawk Moth thought it was a tactical decision to pun badly.

Who knew Chat was really just that annoying?

(Ladybug.)

In retrospect, he would’ve preferred not knowing the truth. This just makes it worse; now it’s ‘teenage superheroes consistently defeat supervillain of Paris by flying on the seat of their pants.’

He can _never_ let Alya Césaire find out about this. Never.

“—So,” Chat is saying, “What’s with the cat?”

“I’m taking care of him,” Ladybug says, lying without really lying. Her hand reaches for her partner’s, tugging in a silent direction to begin their patrol.

Hawk Moth is still miffed, but her ability to twist the truth kind of makes up for it. At least one of them is competent.

Chat makes his own conclusions. “ _Meow_ ch. Twenty-four-hour pet-sitting must be rough,” he says. “Well, I guess you could say we’re on _cat_ rol now—”

“Didn’t you say you were done?”

Her partner smirks. “Ah, _buginette_ , I’m never done!”

“Leaving!” Ladybug shouts, accelerating.

Why did he ask to come again? Hawk Moth sighs.

Chat grins as he darts after her. “Seriously speaking though, if you need any help pet-sitting, I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

“Really.”

“Is that doubt I hear?” he asks, sidling up to her and bumping their shoulders together. “My lady, all the cats in Paris _adore_ me!”

Just to spite him, Hawk Moth hisses. Chat stumbles in surprise.

Ladybug laughs and reaches back to keep her partner from falling off the roof. “All of them except this one, you mean.”

* * *

Upon arriving back at the bakery, the first thing Hawk Moth thinks is ‘never again.’ Then Marinette spends an extra bit of time petting him before bed, a reward for keeping her neck warm and toasty during the cold Parisian night. There’s a little bit of nuzzling involved and he enjoys the way it’s his scent that clings to her instead of Chat Noir’s.

Ladybug bears Chat’s scent marking. Marinette, however, wears his.

The second thing he thinks is, ‘maybe again.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapter summaries are getting even more shitpost-y as time goes on oopsDON'T TRUST THEM
> 
> Anyway, 12 chapters in and we FINALLY get the other MC in here -ignoring chapter 1-. Now all we need is Adrien for the setup to be complete. (Yes I'm still setting up okay ｡ﾟヽ(ﾟ´Д｀)ﾉﾟ｡)


	13. Superhero Support System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth might be allergic to friendship.

“Sup, grumpy cat!” Alya declares, waltzing into the room with his human. They’ve just come home from lycée. “Glad to see me?”

“I’m never glad to see anyone,” Hawk Moth replies with a sneer. He burrows himself back under Marinette’s blankets. Tikki, he knows, will be joining him in a moment as they hide from their guest.

The Ladyblog writer clicks her tongue. “Mari, your cat could totally model for Grumpy Cat merch.”

“I am _not_ turning him into a meme,” Marinette replies. “You want anything specific from the kitchen?”

“Just whatever you have is fine. And maybe some OJ?”

“Healthy,” she teases. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

“Need any help?”

“I got it.”

The door closes. Tikki phases through the mattress and Hawk Moth curls in on himself to ignore her. It doesn’t work quite so well when the kwami giggles at him—that sound, he swears, is quickly becoming his least favorite sound on earth. It’s worse than chalkboard scratching, worse than tires screeching against hot asphalt, worse than hearing a blow horn go off at four in the morning… (Thanks, Papillon. That akuma was a real riot. Just what he wanted to wake him up five hours too early _._ )

“How long’s the girl staying?” he grumbles.

“Mm, for a while,” the kwami replies. “She’s here to check out Marinette’s designs for the Ladyblog. They were talking about it in class, too, but Mme. Mendeleiev caught them passing notes one time too many to really get anything done.”

“Fantastic.”

Marinette comes back a few moments later. Along with a plate of various pastries, she’s also hugging a bottle of orange juice and two glasses. His food bowl also gets some warm chicken breast, and the water bowl next to it is quickly refilled.

“Papillon, come and eat!”

He hops down and does so, ignoring the kwami using him as cover. Her chosen slips her a macaron from the plate.

“No cat food?” Alya asks.

Marinette shrugs, taking a seat beside her. “He only eats human food.”

“Spoiled kitty.”

Hawk Moth’s ears twitch, but he otherwise ignores them in favor of his meal. Their voices quickly become background noise, barring the casual drops of ‘Ladybug’ and ‘Chat.’ His brain has already recorded those two as buzz words—it’s a little bit annoying, seeing as they’re discussing superhero merchandise, but he can deal with it. It’s for his scratching post, after all.

They’d picked one out yesterday, and it was coming in the mail later this week. While necessary, the purchase had also depleted the girl’s wallet, so her friend coming over to help the creative process was really par for the course.

“—Like, there are so many theories about these akuma on the Ladyblog right now…everyone’s going crazy about them, and all I want to do is interview Ladybug and Chat Noir themselves to see if _they_ know what’s up,” Alya is saying—well, _ranting_ more like.

Marinette, accustomed to tangents with her friend when one nears Parisian superhero territory, nods along. “The akuma have been way too strong lately,” she remarks, keeping carefully neutral while feigning interest. Or perhaps, Hawk Moth thinks, it isn’t so much a feigned interest as a restrained one. Her friend knows even less than she does about the rise in akuma strength.

It is impressive how she so easily deflects any suspicions from herself, however.

“Hawk Moth can’t keep this up forever, right?” the Ladyblogger asks, wrinkling her noise. “I mean, isn’t there a superpower code or law or something where the more power you use, the longer it takes to recover? He _has_ to chill at some point. It’s just—” she sighs, “—even I can tell. When I’m out there getting footage, I mean. Akuma are dangerous, yeah, but these...and then, I can even tell they’re worried about me. Ladybug and Chat, I mean.”

“You put yourself in dangerous positions,” Marinette chides. “I’m worried about you, too, out there.”

“Someone’s gotta do it. How else will Paris know how much they do for us? How much we need them!”

“I know, I know. A little bit of caution goes a long way though, especially with the recent akuma.”

Alya bites into a macaron. “Mmm,” she grumbles, moving to lay her head down on her crisscrossed arms, “I’m worried, Mari.”

Marinette hums. Her eyes and hands are set on her sketchbook, drawing away, but her attention is all on her friend. There are some things eye contact isn’t meant for, and it’s fascinating to see how much they trust against all the reasons there are not to. How can she care, Hawk Moth wonders, when her friend is set on revealing her identity at every turn? When she doesn’t know, can’t know, will preferably never know? Alya Césaire is more of a hindrance than a help, he’s sure, so the question is: why are they friends?

“That’s why you’re dead-set on this Ladybug merch idea, right?”

Alya takes a peek at her friend. “I…well, I just want to show them a little support during rough times. And you’d also profit from it, so! So. Are you mad?”

“No,” Marinette says, shrugging. “I figured it was something like that. It, well, it makes me happy. I-I mean, I also want to support them! They do so much for us! O-of course I do! All aboard the Lady-merch plan!”

Her friend laughs. “You’re the best.”

“Right back at you.”

Their sincerity makes Hawk Moth want to vomit. Or sneeze. Maybe both. As if she can tell what he’s thinking, Tikki giggles and pats his head. When he makes a swipe at her for revenge, she dodges, and it takes a world of restraint _not_ to go chasing after her—not only would that upset the girl, but someone not in-the-know is here. It would be poor taste to go chasing after something that shouldn’t exist.

Ugh. Kwami.

“How about this one?”

“Oh! Those are cute! You could totally make mini versions out of your leftover cloth, too. Put them on keychains and all of Paris will have them dangling off their bags! Hey, is that what I think it is?”

“Depends on what you think it is.”

“A _reversible Ladybug and Chat Noir scarf_?! Girl, I call dibs on the first one.”

“But the first one is always the worst one!”

“That just means mine will be unique. Stitch my name on it and we’ll call it a deal, yeah?”

“…You just want to show off to your Ladyblog, don’t you?”

“Pssh, don’t complain. You’ll get free advertisement; I’ll get an excuse to take selfies. Everyone wins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I interrupt your regular dose of Cat Moth to give you Alya.
> 
> That's it. That's the chapter. But tbh it's filler for what's coming next *wink wonk*


	14. Nino and Adrien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth discovers the definition of a complicated relationship. Unfortunately, he's more involved than he'd like to be.

Hawk Moth thinks today will be like his other days as of late—normal, boring, with absolutely nothing of note. He checks his calendar just to make sure he’s right. Tuesday, which means Ladybug won’t be going on patrol tonight, which means he won’t be going out as well. He hasn’t missed a single meeting since he started going, so the routine is engraved in his mind by now.

Yes, without patrol, normal and boring just about sum it up.

Being a house cat isn’t bad, of course. He’s fed meals three times a day, doesn’t have any obligations to attend to, and gets attention from his human should he ever request it. There are times it would be inappropriate or unreasonable to do so—naturally; she can’t pet him when she’s at school and walking in on her shower is just…no—but he’s been pretty good about that. Hawk Moth is, if nothing else, patient.

There are three other voices that accompany Marinette’s usual, “I’m home!” shout. It is not always answered by her parents, who might be busy at the counter or in the bakery’s kitchen, but it’s good manners anyway to announce oneself. Tom and Sabine are indeed busy at the front, so whoever is accompanying the girl doesn’t introduce themselves.

Hawk Moth can’t remember if she asked to have guests over or not. Well, regardless, he recognizes one of the voices as Alya Césaire, so the others must be from school? Hm.

They make a minor detour to the kitchen to grab snacks and perhaps a drink, so it can’t be a short visit. A moment later Marinette is leading them up the stairs to her room.

“Oh, um, and I have a cat, so—” she’s saying, pausing to alert her guests.

“Really?” a masculine voice exclaims. “Adrien _loves_ cats!”

“O-oh, r-really? Ah, but, um, P-Papillon doesn’t really—I mean, I’m sure he’d love you, you’re a great person, but he doesn’t—”

“Cat’s got an attitude,” Alya cuts in.

“Don’t they all?” asks the same boy. “I’m sure it’s fine. If your parents let you keep him, he can’t be all that bad, right?”

Marinette mumbles out an agreement. Hawk Moth sighs and prepares to spend the next few hours in a pile of blankets instead of being pet. That’s what happens when guests come over—her attention is elsewhere, namely not on him, and the only company he’ll have is her thrice be-damned kwami, who probably does it on purpose knowing her existence frustrates him.

“Papillon? I’m home. A-and I brought friends over, too, for a school project.”

A dark skinned boy wearing a red baseball cap raises his eyebrow at her introduction. This one, Hawk Moth snorts at. He’ll deny it to the day he dies, but he’s both proud and _glad_ that Marinette still decides to talk to him as if he’s a person, even in the presence of people who wouldn’t understand her obscenely smart cat.

This territory, her room, is shared by him. Their spaces are not wholly separate from one another, so it’s only natural she alerts him of guests…even if he had heard them when they were downstairs. Manners. The dark skinned boy seems like he doesn’t have any. Papillon leaps off her bed and lands perfectly on the floor.

“Woah,” the same boy mutters. It’s the one that previously spoke outside.

Marinette moves aside and makes room so they can all come in. Instantly, a familiar smell tickles his nose. Well, ‘tickles’ would be an understatement. It’s a sharp, unyielding sting that makes his brain short circuit for a second. He wouldn’t call it disgusting—though perhaps those with no taste in cheese would scrunch up their faces—but it certainly is…strong.

He smells camembert. And below that stench? Hawk Moth smells the familiar scent of Chat Noir.

The first thought he thinks is, _does she know_? He takes a peek at the girl’s expression, but sees no hide nor hair of Ladybug in her. In fact, her expression is rather demur and dare he say nervous? What’s there to be nervous about? Unless she knows, and is nervous because ‘friends from school’ previously did not include Chat Noir.

That also makes no sense though. Ladybug and Chat Noir are…close. He’s Hawk Moth. He’s also Ladybug’s _cat_ , so of course he knows. It’d make no sense that, if they knew each other’s civilian personas, they would not also be close as well.

Then he connects a smell to a face to a name, and then the world makes sense again. Kind of.

Really, no, the world does not make sense because what he is seeing is Adrien Agreste, what he is smelling—aside from the camembert, which is also coming from the same person, what?—is Chat Noir; _who_ he sees is Adrien, Gabriel’s son, and he looks so much like his mother that Hawk Moth almost does a double take.

He has her eyes, her hair, the same soft curve of her nose. For a second, he’s teleported to another time—when her hair is shorter and they’re both so young, flitting around the garden like butterflies. She says she wants to be a superhero, and because there’s no one else around, he plays her villain.

It’s painful and all he wants to do is stop seeing the image of her face, her expression frozen in horror as he lifts his cane and—

Adrien is Marinette’s celebrity crush, he thinks.

That’s all he is. The boy is nothing more than that—oh, _and_ he’s Chat Noir; dear lord what has he done to deserve this (aside from akumatizing a significant number of Paris’ population—ah, that just might be it…well, wasn’t he complaining before that karma didn’t target the right things? None of that anymore).

If Hawk Moth thought this situation was messed up beforehand, he realizes it’s actually worse. It’s a hurricane in the middle of an earthquake with an oncoming tornado, and the roof’s torn off and dinner’s almost done but then it’s all over the floor, and the lock to the shelter is jammed, but it’s also thirty-eight degrees Celsius in the middle of summer…and the air conditioner is broken. And it’s a Monday.

Metaphor aside, this is a pretty messed up situation.

The part of his mind that wants to avoid making serious connections first thinks, well that explains why the girl was tearing down her posters yesterday. Then it muses, so Ladybug is crushing on Chat Noir; ah, the horrifying beauty of requited unrequited love. _Then_ he thinks, Gabriel would blow a gasket if he knew his son was Chat Noir.

And that’s when he can’t avoid the major implications of this anymore.

Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir.

Just…pause. Hawk Moth repeats that line over again in his head, and then once accidentally out loud because he still can’t really believe it.

“Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir.”

The boy locks eyes with him and he looks positively horrified. Hawk Moth wonders if it’s because he recognizes him, or if it’s because he understands cat speak and is reacting to his unintended identity reveal. He also wonders if his expression is the same, equally as horrified, almost as if the camembert has grabbed his nose and twisted it like one would a bottle cap.

Oh. Oh…

Did he…did he accidentally reveal Ladybug’s identity, too?

“This is Nino,” Marinette is saying, introducing her friends to her unusually smart cat. “And this is Adrien. And you know Alya.”

“Good to see you again, kitty cat!” the Ladyblogger coos. It’s enough to snap him out of his funk to scowl and hiss at her. “Aww, is the grumpy kitty sad because we woke him from his cat nap? _Poor Papillon_!”

When she reaches out for him with grabby hands, Hawk Moth neatly dodges and leaps into Marinette’s arms instead. Her natural reflexes—as he unfortunately learned of earlier in one of many Incidents That Must Be Forgotten—catch him with ease.

“Uhh…Alya?” Nino asks, decidedly more nervous now that he’s seen how big of a cat he is. He even backs away a little. Good—he should be scared, Hawk Moth thinks as he burrows into Marinette’s arms.

Now in her normal voice, Alya waves him off with a, “Oh don’t worry. Papillon doesn’t scratch. Well, I bet he would if Mari told him to. Cat’s in love with her.”

He is _absolutely not_. Then Marinette runs a hand down his spine to quiet him, and he’s all for pets. But he does _not_ melt under her hand and he does _not_ purr, just to get that straight, because if he did—and he didn’t—this day would have to go on his ‘ _Forget This Ever Happened’_ list, and there’s already too many things on that.

“Don’t tease, Alya,” the girl chides. It’s without any bite to it, though. “Papillon’s just a very smart cat.”

“U-uh, M-Marinette?” Adrien asks, speaking for the first time, “I-is he yours?”

Marinette starts and fumbles a bit, but having a cat in her arms must give her some sort of confidence boost, because Papillon hears her say without stuttering, “Yeah. He is.”

“…Oh.”

And that’s that. They put the food down on the table and then move it off the wall to the center of the room. Chairs are slid in so they have enough space for four, and then books and tablets are set out as they actually start working. For a bunch of teenagers, Hawk Moth thinks their diligence is quite impressive, but then again that might be because two of them are superheroes with limited (and unstable) time slots to do their work in. Lord knows how many times Marinette’s Ladybug duties ensured she came to school without homework done.

…This is a mess. Ladybug and Chat Noir are doing a history project together, without knowing each other is Ladybug or Chat Noir. At least, he’s quite sure they don’t know. Marinette likes Adrien, after all, and Ladybug is not in love with Chat. At least, he doesn’t think so…

Good lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles*


	15. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth unconsciously begins to take his Hawkdaddy role more seriously.

Hawk Moth slinks off to hide under the blankets once he sees the group of teenagers get down to business. He’s never got any information when Alya is here, so there’s no chance of getting anything when Chat’s civilian identity—Adrien Agreste, _dear God_ —is. Tikki is waiting for him.

“So,” she whispers, “What do you think?”

“Everyone is stupid,” Hawk Moth declares. “Paris is stupid. Ladybug is stupid. Chat Noir is an idiot. When this world burns, at least it’ll be easy to steal their miraculous.”

“I’d introduce you to Plagg, but he’s probably sleeping after lunch.”

“Is that why Chat Noir smells like camembert cheese?”

Ladybug’s kwami laughs and doesn’t reply. “Isn’t it cute?” she asks, and he thinks if there was more space beneath these blankets, she’d be zipping around in the air like a hummingbird rather than her chosen’s namesake.

“I don’t understand kwami. You don’t bat an eyelash to me living under the same roof as your chosen, but you’re swooning over two kids with an identity crisis?”

Tikki hums, looking at him with those blasted knowing eyes again. She smiles. “How about you tell me?”

Hawk Moth bristles. Before he gets a chance to pounce on her, the kwami grins and lifts the blanket slightly, pointing to the table of teenagers. “See? Aren’t they cute?”

They’re sitting next to each other—and knowing Alya, the fact is not any sort of accident either. He can see the red of Marinette’s cheeks, redder than he’s ever seen them, even after a run as Ladybug. She peeks a glance at the one beside her, takes it in and loses herself before snapping out of it and going back to her work again.

In conclusion, she’s hopeless.

Adrien, on the other hand, is clearly in a disarray. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, writing and erasing and writing all over again. His mind is elsewhere—probably on the fact that Ladybug’s cat is actually Marinette’s—and it shows in the way it takes Nino three tries to get his attention.

In conclusion, _they’re both hopeless._

Hawk Moth scowls. All he can think about is how often Chat Noir touched Ladybug, how he tried at every turn—unconscious or not—to rub his scent on her. And it’s also true that Ladybug—in her own way, whether she pushed him away or not—was and is receptive to it. Their touch as their superhero personas is mutual and constant, close and affectionate.

But now? As civilians, they’re so close and yet _worlds apart_! He can almost taste the distance between them, as far as a gorge’s depth. The entire length of the Catacombs of Paris could fit in that distance and there’d be room to spare. He can’t help but briefly think that it’s wrong, but then a second passes and instead of that feeling, all he feels is satisfaction.

If Chat can’t see what’s right in front of him as Adrien, then that’s his fault. It’s not the universe, the world, Paris, bad luck or even fate working against him—the love of his life is literally sitting right next to him, and he’s too blind to see it. That’s on him, not anyone else.

(Hawk Moth ignores the fact that Ladybug is equally blind, equally at fault for her situation, and equally as stupid. He’s biased. He knows he is. Ladybug, he could care less about besides taking her miraculous, but Marinette has housed him, fed him, pet him and just _cared_ for him when no one else bothered to. Yes, so what, he’s biased, but who wouldn’t be?)

What’s not to like about Marinette? Sure, she could be a little airheaded and ditzy at times—specifically when vis-à-vis Adrien, but she’s just as strong as Ladybug in a softer manner. Well, that should be obvious; it’s not like she goes around fighting akuma in her civilian form, after all. She does everything that she possibly can, and cares furiously with the wind power of a raging tornado.

Sometimes she thinks a little too much, over-planning to the point where her middle name is “Caution,” but so what? Perfection is boring. Her flaws are quirks at best, freckles at worst. She’s growing, and learning, and it’s so fascinating to watch someone already so strong get stronger. She’s not done yet. Marinette is a good girl, and will grow into a fearsome woman.

The more he thinks about this, the more enraged—and offended—Hawk Moth gets. Marinette is sitting right next to Adrien. She even sits behind him in class! And Ladybug? Sure, Chat also sees her on a semi-regular basis, but Ladybug has made clear enough that she doesn’t return his feelings. How can someone continue to pine after Ladybug with _Marinette_ right in front of them? It makes no sense. Not only is she right in front of him—in front, behind, to the side, same thing—she’s also _in love with him._

And isn’t that it? Ladybug is only a part of Marinette—more like a parasite, Hawk Moth likes to think—and yet her brilliance somehow overshadows the girl behind the mask, at least in Adrien’s eyes. Does he even look at her? Look at _Marinette_? A blind man can’t see, true, but he feels and touches and smells and tastes—sight doesn’t come in colors for a blind man, it comes in sounds and flavors and scents and textures, and that sees more than eyes ever could.

Hawk Moth just thinks Adrien should’ve known by now if he was serious. He’s _Chat Noir_. _Chat._ Chat, who had his scent all over Ladybug during patrol. Chat, who calls her his lady and kisses her hand and holds her at every opportunity. Chat, who knows there’s someone behind the mask, unlike Marinette who doesn’t even know there’s a mask in the first place. It’s so infuriating that he can look at her and say all those things, claim to be in love with her, and then turn around and look right past her civilian form like she’s just part of the background.

If he can’t find what’s literally— _literally_ , Hawk Moth repeats—right in front of his eyes, then he doesn’t deserve her.

Now as she is—a young lady on the brink of adulthood, perhaps even past that point with her responsibilities as Ladybug maturing her in some aspects—now, just as she is, she’s just fine as herself. She doesn’t need to change into someone different, doesn’t need to put on a magical suit to be amazing. She isn’t a diamond in the rough who needs a little push or a little help to shine—she’s fine on her own. More than fine. That’s something she can and should be proud of, and yet isn’t, because Ladybug exists and claims that which she is on her own as an effect of the miraculous.

And it infuriates him that no one seems to see that, not even herself.

Ignoring the kwami, Hawk Moth slips from the blankets and off the bed. He lands on the floor, pads over, and then without pomp or circumstance, leaps into her lap. The girl jolts. She seems to consider sending him off, seeing as there’s work to be done and that’s kind of hard with a purring cat on her lap, but in the end, she lets him stay.

“Forget him,” he mumbles into the cloth of her pants. No one hears. “Just be you. You’re fine as yourself, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, meet Adrien "I AM SO CONFUSED RN" Agreste, Marinette "How can I marry Adrien if my cat doesn't like him" Dupain-Cheng, and Hawk "Mari is fkin great u got a problem m8 I'll scratch ur fkin face off" Moth.
> 
> (He'll ship them eventually. I'm still getting to that part.)
> 
> ...
> 
> Also sorry, I posted this chapter a little early by accident (was tryin' to save it to post it later, haha), sooo my apologies for the early notifications sent to subscribers. Not my intent to tease y'all (yet)!


	16. Balcony Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth is the Tybalt to Chat Noir's Puss in Boots. Meanwhile, Marinette's nightgown makes a reappearance.
> 
> (Unfortunately, no actual stage fights take place. More's the pity.)

It’s eleven o’clock at night and, as per usual, Marinette is freaking out instead of going to sleep.

“This is a mess!” she exclaims, probably without fully knowing to what extent the mess actually encompasses. Hawk Moth thinks this is pretty fair. Ladybug has a certain…finesse in untangling messes, seeing as that’s her job. What very few people know is that Marinette has a certain finesse in _making_ messes—and by very few people, he means two: himself and the kwami of fortune.

Take, for example, his own circumstance. He is a cat. He is also Hawk Moth, Ladybug’s primary enemy. For some inane, inexplicable reason, he is now in the care of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladybug’s civilian identity. See? Mess. She didn’t have to pick him up, and she didn’t have to keep him, but Marinette did; hence, a mess.

Then, there’s the overarching mess that seems to cause other tangles when something gets a little tiny bit close. He means, of course, this weird identity snafu going on between Ladybug and Chat Noir. “It’s a love square between two people!” Tikki had said earlier, giggling as if she hadn’t just described an incredibly stupid situation. Is Marinette the main cause of this mess? Probably not, but since she doesn’t seem willing to tell Chat her identity anytime soon...

Mess accounted for.

And then if he wanted to keep going, he could. There’s the mess with Alya, the regular minor messes Marinette gets into to excuse her absences during an akuma attack, the emotional mess she’s in whenever she’s around Adrien (who is also Chat Noir; see the previously mentioned ‘love square’ debacle), and even the mess she’s in with the Bourgeois girl, though Hawk Moth isn’t too sure the specifics about that one. He vaguely remembers something about akumatizing her into Antibug, and that’s proof enough that Chloé is a rabid Ladybug fan while also doubling as Ladybug’s ( _Marinette’s_ ) primary bully.

And now, there’s this.

“Tikki!” Marinette hisses, “What do I do?!”

The kwami shrugs hopelessly. “It’s up to you, Marinette…but I don’t think he’s going to go away anytime soon. Maybe try talking to him?”

Marinette groans. “Agh, this is such a mess. Why is Chat Noir on my balcony in the middle of the night _anyway_?!”

There’s another _taptaptap_ , and the girl flinches as she looks up toward the glass window doubling as a trap door. They’re—the three of them—all out of its range of vision, so even as Chat Noir nervously looks in, he doesn’t see Ladybug’s kwami and he certainly doesn’t see Hawk Moth.

“Maybe he’ll think I’m not here?” Marinette mutters to herself.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night,” Hawk Moth grumbles. “The boy will worry even more if you’re not here.”

“Papillon’s right,” Tikki says with a nod.

“…What did Papillon say?”

“Oh, he said Chat will probably worry if you’re _not_ here. It’s pretty late, Marinette.”

Marinette whimpers. The only reason she knows it’s Chat Noir—other than the fact that, come on, who else would be on her balcony at this time of night; who else _could_ be on her balcony?—is because he first checked her window to see if she was there. Naturally, the second she saw a blur, Marinette had scooped them all up and moved them to one of the blind spots in her room.

Then when he didn’t see her in bed from the balcony, Chat Noir started knocking.

This, _this_ is the sort of mess he wishes his akuma were competent enough to create. Hawk Moth despairs. If Marinette wasn’t Ladybug, she’d make an excellent akuma indeed. He’d bet money she’d get the miraculous for him within a day.

“Okay,” Marinette whispers, “Okay. I can do this. Just…I’ll just go up and see what he wants. It can’t be that bad, right? _OhmyGod what if he figured out that I’m Ladybug_?!”

Hawk Moth is about to say that he doubts it, but seeing as he’d just met Chat Noir in person this morning, maybe he actually has. Then again, is the boy stupid enough to address this _now_ of all times? Can’t he just wait until next patrol or something?

…This is a problem.

Hawk Moth wants to snarl. If he could, he’d go right up there and hiss in Chat Noir’s face, maybe scratch him once or twice. Seriously, what is that damn boy thinking? Marinette is probably ten seconds away from hyperventilating and it’s just because this kid can’t keep it in his pants? It is _eleven o’clock at night_ and that is not a decent time for any sort of identity reveal whatsoever, never mind a teenage boy sneaking into an equally teenage girl’s bedroom.

He rummages through Marinette’s closet instead and pulls out a baseball bat.

“Go and hit him with this,” he says through the handle he has in his mouth. “If nothing else, that’ll teach him he shouldn’t be flirting with girls at this time of night.”

Marinette gets the message. She grins, wryly so, and thanks him with a pat on the head. The humor of facing off against a superhero with an old baseball bat is not lost on her; Hawk Moth is just glad she’s stopped panicking.

Tikki sighs. “I’ll hide,” she says, “But it probably wouldn’t be smart to let him into your room.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Marinette mutters, face darkening. The baseball bat gives her courage. “Who does he think he is, landing on girls’ balconies when he should be finishing up patrol? Does he do this often? Slacking off just because Ladybug’s not around to keep him in line? What a _flirt!_ If he thinks he can pull that crap on my balcony he’s got another thing coming!”

Good girl. Satisfied, Hawk Moth flops down on his bed to watch (listen) to the show.

Tikki sighs. “That’s…not exactly what I meant, but you’re not wrong…I guess…”

“Your love square just got a whole lot more complicated,” he goads.

The kwami _harrumphs_. “Chat’s in love with Ladybug.”

“Correction, he _flirts_ with Ladybug. And he’s about to flirt with Marinette—not that she’ll let him.”

“You don’t know that! He could be here for perfectly innocent reasons.”

Hawk Moth snorts. “Right. Name one.”

Before Tikki can answer, sounds come from up above. So, the kwami changes what she intended to say—or not, Hawk Moth fails to see what sort of perfectly innocent reason can’t wait for a better time—to, “ _Shh_! They’re talking!”

The trap door has been left open. Anything that’s said up there, they can hear down below. Still, Hawk Moth angles his ears and creeps closer, clambering up the ladder onto the girl’s bed.

“Chat Noir! What are you _doing_ here?” Marinette whisper-shouts. Hawk Moth thinks about her small body brandishing a baseball bat and chuckles. Being Ladybug, the superhero workout routine consisting of akuma and leaping across rooftops has been very effective. Even if she’s wearing nothing but her nightgown—

Hawk Moth starts. Tikki yelps in surprise from her position next to him.

Oh, good lord she’s wearing a thin nightgown up on her balcony in the middle of autumn. For one, that’s an easy way to catch a cold. For _two_ …

“P-princess, what were you going to do with that baseball bat?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting a _superhero_ on my balcony in the middle of the night, if you want to put it that way. You really scared me,” Marinette scolds. “Now what are you doing here? Don’t you have patrol or something?”

“How—I mean—yeah, I, uh, finished early. Um. I had something I needed to ask you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your damn balcony scene *grumbles*
> 
> i stg people were askin' for this since this fic started. It's an obligatory trope now, I hear


	17. Visitation Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth is accidentally a good wingman (haha, _wing_ man). In other news, Marinette is Ladybug. #JustHawkwardThings

Chat sounds nervous. Docile, almost, and Hawk Moth knows Marinette’s a sucker for that type of act. He hears her lower her baseball bat, the sound of the end cap meeting the wood floor making a solid _thunk_. The girl herself sighs.

“What’s up, Chat?”

 “I—uh.” Chat pauses. Then, in the most submissive tone Hawk Moth has ever heard him use, he says, “I heard you got a cat.”

Marinette’s sharp intake is not lost on him.

“It’s, I mean, I just—” Chat breathes in. “Princess,” he says, solid this time. “ _Marinette_. A—” he pauses, and it feels like an eternity before he finishes his question. “I mean, d-do you know Ladybug?”

Dear lord this boy is an idiot. Hawk Moth groans. Tikki looks invariably smug, if not a little exasperated herself.

“See,” the kwami says, “A perfectly innocent reason.”

“Hush.”

Marinette lets out the breath she’s been holding. “Oh. Yeah, I do.”

“Oh.”

There’s a beat, and then—“I-I mean,” she scrambles for something to say, “I do, but I don’t. I mean, ugh, I—”

“No no, I get it,” Chat says. “That’s, well. I was just wondering, because of your cat. Um, I’ll just go. Sorry for scaring you, princess. I’ll see you around.”

“Wait!”

This time, Hawk Moth is the one to inhale. “What is she doing?” he hisses. Tikki looks as lost as he does. If there was any a time to get herself out of a mess, it would be now—just let him go, there’s no harm in that; he doesn’t know and he _won’t know_ because _you won’t tell him_ —but she doesn’t. If anything, Marinette is prolonging her mess. He doesn’t know what her intention is to stop him. Isn’t the goal to get rid of him?

“I found out on accident,” Marinette says. Her voice doesn’t tremble and her words are enough to make Chat stop. “She told me that if she could choose anyone to tell first, it would’ve been you.”

“…Me?”

“Of course! You’re her partner! There’s no one else she trusts more in the entire world—she told me that, by the way. She didn’t choose to reveal herself to me…and she definitely would’ve preferred if it was you. I mean, she wasn’t ready to tell anyone, but if it had to be someone, then who better than her partner?”

Chat is silent. Marinette continues. “Sometimes she doubts herself. As her civilian self, because when the mask comes off she’s totally different, you know? So sometimes she gets scared of people finding out and, and getting disappointed…o-or something. She can’t be Ladybug all the time.”

“She used to tell me no one could know, because we’d put them in danger,” Chat says.

“Well, that’s true,” Marinette replies, and Hawk Moth can imagine the sort of smile she’d have on her face as she says that. It’d be wry, feeble, self-deprecating; surely, it’d be a very unhappy smile—not much of one at all, he thinks. At least, nothing that should ever appear on her face.

“Are you mad?”

Chat is taken aback. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“W-well, because I know!”

“You said it yourself,” Chat says, “It wasn’t her choice and it wasn’t yours. Besides, I’m a little happy to know she’d want to tell me first. I’ve wanted to know since forever, but if she doesn’t—if she’s not ready, I can respect that.”

“…Thanks, Chat. You’re a good friend.”

Hawk Moth hears a shuffle and a thunk of boots. “Hey now, don’t sell yourself short, princess! You’re a good friend, too. My lady is lucky to have you in her confidence!”

…Oh no. _Oh no_. He is _so_ not going to let that fly. “I’m going up there,” Hawk Moth hisses.

Tikki grabs hold of his fur. It’s a useless endeavor. “No, you can’t!”

“What if he takes advantage of her?!”

“Chat’s a _gentleman_. Don’t ruin their moment!”

“She is wearing a nightgown. A. Nightgown. And he is _way too close_ —”

“They’re friends! This is progress! Now hush, I can’t hear what they’re saying!”

Hawk Moth growls. His tail flicks angrily behind him. “He’s going to bust a move. I’m going to stop him.”

“No, don’t! Marinette’s finally making progress in her civilian form; you can’t just put a stop to it! This has been _years_ in the making. Years! Besides, Chat wouldn’t do something like that. He’s in love with Ladybug.”

“She _is_ Ladybug!”

Tikki groans. “Well, yes, you’re not wrong there, but Chat doesn’t know that!”

Hawk Moth leaps to his feet and begins to pace back and forth. The kwami buzzes around his head in reply, frantically trying to stop him from doing something he _most certainly won’t_ regret. He doesn’t understand how she is in anyway okay with this. He’s seen how she and her chosen interact—they’re practically mother and child!

Finally, Hawk Moth turns around and flat out asks, “Are you going to protect her virtue, or am I?”

“Her virtue is _not_ in danger,” Tikki retorts. “Take this from a five-thousand-year-old plus god. Besides, Plagg’s kittens are all bark and no bite until they get past adolescence. If something’s going to happen, I bet Marinette’s going to be the one who starts it.”

Hawk Moth ignores her. “I’m going up there.”

“But what if you interrupt something important?!”

“I’m sure if something ‘important’ is going to happen, it can happen again _later_ when she’s not going to freeze to death.” Hawk Moth sneers, and then with a single bound he’s peeking up out of the open trap door. He can hear Tikki’s frustrated groan down below.

Well, alright. So maybe he was exaggerating a bit about the extent of his interference. He’s not _stupid_ —if the girl really likes this kid, then all the more power to her. But. On the off chance that Chat Noir has figured out Marinette’s Ladybug and is just lying about it, and is now coming on to her because of the fact, he’ll put a stop to that. Hawk Moth is not going to let him take advantage of her ignorance.

It’s bad enough Adrien is completely oblivious of her as a civilian. For him to turn around and moon over her simply because she’s the true identity of Ladybug is worse—as if he’ll take what he can get, instead of appreciating what he has. It’ll just be another line on her list, another addition to the ‘Things Ladybug Has but Marinette Doesn’t’ that she keeps an unwritten record of in her mind. And, Hawk Moth knows, that’s the last thing Marinette needs: another sucker punch to her self-esteem.

And then there’s the other possibility that Chat Noir does go around to other girls’ balconies at night, and his love for Ladybug isn’t all it’s built up to be. There is, after all, a very large difference between flirtation and adoration. All he’s really seen them do is flirt.

The two are sitting next to each other on one of the thick side ledges Marinette usually puts her plants on. Her pink beach chair is currently being occupied by her baseball bat—that explains things—and, he notes, while they are close, it isn’t scandalously so. Marinette grins at something Chat said, and they banter like two good friends.

Hawk Moth relaxes. Nothing to worry about. There aren’t any suspicious, discerning looks, or anything that might scream, ‘I know you’re Ladybug’ coming from Chat. It’s a little bit his fault anyway, and though Hawk Moth will never apologize, he _is_ a supervillain. Acknowledging his responsibility for unfortunate predicaments is the thing that separates true villains from petty criminals.

Well, no point in dwelling on it, especially since he doesn’t feel particularly guilty either. Then again, very few things manage to make him feel guilty these days.

He’s about to lower himself back down to the bedroom and fetch a jacket for her when he sees Marinette shiver. She really should’ve put on a jacket _before_ coming out—her dress is sleeveless, and with its short length, it does absolutely nothing to cover her legs. The concrete she’s sitting on must be cold, too, he realizes.

Chat doesn’t miss it either. “Sorry, are you cold, princess?” he asks. It’s clear by how he starts to lean closer and hover that he _knows_ she’s cold. And then his eyes trail to what she’s wearing—

Chat freezes. Mid-reply, Marinette notices, and she looks distinctly uncomfortable with the direction of his gaze.

Nope. _Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope._ Hawk Moth clambers over the side of the trap door and flings himself at her. Marinette yelps, but does successfully catch him in her arms.

“Her eyes are up there, idiot!” he hisses, uncaring of the way Marinette tries to shift her hold into a more comfortable position.

Chat sputters. “I-I wasn’t!”

Hawk Moth snorts. “Right, and I’m not a cat. Your face is as red as Ladybug’s suit.”

Before the superhero can reply, Marinette interrupts. “You can understand him?”

“Oh, um, comes with the suit,” he all but squeaks. “I can’t without transforming.”

The girl looks intrigued, if only a bit more than embarrassed. Hawk Moth sniffs, and insists on stretching to place his paws on her shoulder to act as a better cover—both from the wind, and from roaming eyes.

“His name’s Papillon,” she says.

Chat grins. “Papillon, huh? He doesn’t like me all too much.”

“Oh yeah, Ladybug told me that one. To be fair, he doesn’t like a lot of people all too much.”

“The princess being the exception?”

“The person who feeds him being the exception,” she corrects. Just in case, he thinks in tandem, because Hawk Moth had no issues riding upon Ladybug’s shoulders.

“But of course,” Chat quips, nodding magnanimously. His own tail waves behind him. “I imagine living with a baker’s daughter has its benefits. Even better that she doubles as a princess—we cats do love heights, and what can be better than her tall tower under the Parisian night sky?”

Marinette smiles. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. A blanket and a warm bed, perchance?”

Chat stands. “It _is_ late,” he agrees. “I’ll be off, then—dragons to slay, people to protect…”

“Princesses to save?” she offers, standing herself.

“But the one, and she’s standing right in front of me,” he says with a wink. “Alas, I cannot save her from a cold if I stay.”

Marinette giggles. “Well then, maybe you should consider that the next time you drop by.”

“I…can?”

He can hear Tikki squeal down below. Ugh, if this is going to be a regular occurrence—

“Come at a more agreeable time and we’ll see,” she teases.

Chat beams. “Most certainly. Then, ‘til next we meet, princess!” And with a wave, the superhero leaps onto her roof and then the next one. He’s out of a sight in a few more bounds, and Hawk Moth meows to remind her to head inside. Marinette agrees without resistance.

The first thing she says to a smiling kwami and a resigned cat is, “I think I’m going to start wearing pants to bed now.”

* * *

Later, when Marinette is asleep, Tikki whispers, “I don’t know how you did it, but you did. Good job up there.”

Hawk Moth growls and tells her to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like seriously, does anyone remember Dark Cupid???? The kiss???? That wouldn't have happened without Hawk Moth dude. Not even Alya could make that happen and she's the canon shipper. #HawkMothBestWingman is canon.
> 
> Aaaanyway, here's Marichat as they ship Ladynoir (dear lord, what is going on in this fic). 
> 
> Hopefully back to Cat Moth shenanigans in the next chapter, but I haven't written it yet so. Y'know. If you've got any chatnanigans on your mind, I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> Also, take your bets: does Chat know or does he not know? ;)


	18. Tolerance Levels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth experiences the joy of kitty piles, just without the actual kitties.

It’s been a week, and Chat Noir hasn’t come back.

Hawk Moth…well. He doesn’t really care, actually. Whether or not Chat decides to visit Marinette’s balcony does not change the fact that they see him on patrols. At first, Marinette was determined to leave him behind, but he wasn’t about to let _that_ happen, so Ladybug and her two cats become a trend.

Speaking of Marinette, he’s not quite sure what she thinks about it. Her thoughts are her own until she chooses to talk to her kwami. Though, he notes that her mood has deteriorated since Chat’s visit; it’s swung much like a pendulumn—back and forth, back and forth—refusing to settle on content or displeased until a day or so ago, and since then it’s been a downward slope.

He could attribute that to school, or akuma, or just being a teenager, but his gut tells him it’s Chat. Or Adrien, as it may be.

Marinette hums. It’s a sound for the sake of a sound, not the usual hum someone makes when they’re curious or pleased. She’s lying on the wooden floor for no particular reason at all, despite the fact that her chaise is empty and her bed is clear. It’s one of her moods—not quite sad, not quite happy—troubled, he thinks. She’s troubled and she doesn’t want to be, so she pushes everything aside and tries to block it out.

Tikki doesn’t ask. Not yet. Her chosen isn’t quite ready for that.

For lack of anything better to do—alright, maybe he just wants to—Hawk Moth lounges next to her, maybe a guard but more possibly a companion, like the Great Sphinx and its pyramids. He doesn’t watch her, doesn’t pressure her, keeps his eyes ahead because she won’t. Her gaze is to the ceiling, his is to the wall.

It’s cold on the floor, but they’ve been here so long that it’s warm.

Marinette hums again. There’s no melody or harmony to it; rhyme or reason doesn’t have a place here. She hums, holds the sound for a good ten seconds and he knows those ten seconds buys her ten seconds of silence within her mind. His ear twitches, following the sound’s train to nowhere, and he thinks it’s a good purchase. Sound for silence. Silence from sound. Equal exchange.

Hawk Moth swings his tail back and forth, copying the movement of a metronome needle. The steady cadence doesn’t make a sound as his fur flops upon the floor, rises, and flops back down again. He’s not particularly impatient, not waiting for much of anything, but then again maybe he is.

Marinette rolls over. He feels her gaze slide from the ceiling to him, and he thinks that’s probably a lot better.

She hums again. He puts his head down.

They can both hear the bustle of the bakery down below. There are voices of the crowd, clearer to Hawk Moth but loud enough that she can hear them too. Occasionally there’s laughter, more often there’s the ringing of the shop bell as someone leaves and someone else enters. He can hear the clicking of the register, hear the totals being called out in Sabine’s soft voice. Yes, he hears it but he no longer focuses on them—somehow, these sounds have become his home.

Marinette reaches out and grabs his tail with one hand.

It’s…not unpleasant. He’d prefer her petting him, but he supposes that this is fine too. Her grip isn’t tight and he can pull away his appendage anytime he wants to—in fact, he does, but Marinette just reaches for it again and holds it. They play this game several times: him, swinging his tail away, her inevitably catching it again.

He turns and gives her an unamused look just to tell her they’re not playing again. To answer him, she hums, but it’s quiet and lighter this time.

“It’s soft,” she says.

“Obviously.”

Marinette smiles. She tugs on it gently, and he tolerates it. When she swings it like she’s holding another hand, he tolerates that too. Then she drops it, lets it flop, and he waits for a moment before resuming his best impression of a metronome.

Hawk Moth sighs. “Between you and me, I think _you’re_ the cat here.”

She doesn’t hum again. Instead, he gets to listen to her breathe and her heart beat calm. He feels his own breath sync to hers, and they lay like that until she reaches out and tweaks one of his ears.

“Papillon,” she calls, and spreads out her arms like she’s asking for a hug.

He comes. They settle together again, and he tolerates it when she buries her face in his fur and strokes where her hand can reach.

“Are we catnapping?” Tikki asks, already flying over.

“No.”

“Yes.”

The kwami giggles. “Okay,” she says, and plops herself down in the juncture between Marinette’s neck and shoulder. Hawk Moth resigns himself to teddy bear duty. He’s been doing a lot of that, lately.

“You should get a pillow for your head,” he tells her, and in fact tries to move to fetch one from the chaise, but her arm tightens.

“Shh. Nap time.”

“Definitely the cat.”

“What’s wrong with two?” Tikki asks.

“Two cats, _two_ many,” Hawk Moth replies, straight-faced in the delivery.

Tikki does not appreciate the pun. Marinette, on the other hand, dozes to the sound of a one-sided conversation. It’s a lazy day, and they don’t need feelings or confusion to botch it up. Hawk Moth himself lets loose a yawn, which triggers the reply of his companions.

They can talk about feelings afterwards.

Marinette’s Adrien posters lie in a box next to her closet. Hawk Moth falls asleep thinking about it—burning the contents, and liberating the box. It’s a nice box; cardboard with walls high enough to cover him completely, and maybe he’ll drag it out to the balcony and sit in it, feeling the wind brush past the top of his head while the sun warms his back; perfect…

Tikki leans on him. He tolerates that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling lazy. Anyone else feeling lazy? The past 4 chapters had way too much going on so I'm pushing everyone off the cliff(hanger) and back into no-plot-no-problem zone.


	19. Chatterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth third wheels and ends up scheduling a date with Chat Noir.

“So,” Chat says, for once not staring at Ladybug but at her cat, “Can I take your cat on patrol with me?”

Ladybug blinks. “Chat, I think we’ve established that he doesn’t like you. A-and he’s not my cat, he’s Marinette’s.”

“ _Because_ he doesn’t like me, can I take him on patrol with me?”

Ladybug squints. Hawk Moth is not amused. Chat is determined and takes their looks head on, though sort of balks when Hawk Moth intentionally lets his tail swish and brush against Ladybug’s arm. Even though Chat can apparently understand him, Hawk Moth has never started a conversation—in fact, he doesn’t try to talk to him at all—which apparently is a hundred-and-eighty degrees from what Chat wants to do.

Finally, Ladybug says, “He’s not my cat.”

“Ask Marinette if I can take him on patrol with me?”

The problem—as Hawk Moth understands it, anyway—with a love square is that inevitably, one of the corners will form a diagonal with another corner. Squares don’t have diagonals—er, well they do, but the diagonal isn’t part of the square. And this is where things get messy, because while trying to retain the integrity of the love square, arms must be twisted behind backs and tongues get tied. Not in the pleasant way, either.

“Why can’t you—um, I mean, I’m sure she’d be fine with it, but, ah…”

“My lady,” Chat wheedles, and Hawk Moth restrains himself from hissing at him, “Do you not trust me?”

Ladybug sighs and plops down on the roof. “Of course I do, _chaton_. That’s not even a question. But. _Why_.”

“I want to get to know him.”

“…You want to get to know my cat.”

Chat sits down beside her, scooting until their shoulders connect. “Yes. And because I _may or may not_ get jealous of your _fur_ -ashionable scarf during these chilly nights.”

Ladybug mumbles something like, ‘ _I’m too tired to deal with this_.’ Hawk Moth agrees. Fortunately, Marinette is Ladybug, and Marinette always treats her cat as another person. Thus, she says, “It’s up to Papillon,” pointedly ignoring the pun.

Chat beams. “Excellent. Well then, Papillon, would you do me the honors of coming on patrol with me?”

Hawk Moth’s first instinct is to hiss at him. That’s obviously the cat part, and well maybe a bit of the human side too. Then his brain kicks in and reminds him that more time spent alone with Chat Noir—barring Tikki, Ladybug, and Marinette—means more opportunities to steal his miraculous. Which he can totally do, because he’s Hawk Moth.

So, he says, “Fine.”

“What did he say?” Ladybug asks.

“He said ‘Fine.’”

“Really?”

Chat reels back in faux-shock. “ _Buginette_ , I thought what we had was special! Mutual, unconditional trust! I’m a- _paw_ -lled! I think my heart has shattered into a million pieces. I’ll never recover. You’ll have to live with a guilty conscience forever. I’ll pack my bags, have a flashback montage of all the great times we had together, and then take a plane to New York and fall in love with a barista at a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes. “I’ll send you a congratulations postcard in the mail.”

Chat leans close. “Filled with jealousy and regret, signed with an ‘I miss you please come home?’”

With the tip of her finger, Ladybug pushes her partner away. “No, with a sincere, ‘She’s a lucky girl, I’ll make the wedding cake.’”

“So considerate,” Chat says, sighing dramatically as he swings an arm around to pull her close. “I think I’ll fall in love with you all over again. Don’t worry, my lady. I’ll cancel the wedding and we can elope in Vegas.”

“Chat! That’s terrible!”

“Hm, not romantic enough? I agree. We’ll run away to Gretna Green—I’ll be the Darcy to your Elizabeth, naturally.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes. “For one,” she begins, moving his hand away from the waist he’d been slyly inching down, “I’ve read enough SparkNotes to know Elizabeth and Darcy _do not_ elope—”

Chat gasps. “You _SparkNoted_ _Pride and Prejudice_? My lady, I hope you know this is grounds for a divorce.”

“Oh, I’ll go sign the papers then.” With a nonchalant shrug, Ladybug takes up her yoyo and acts as if she’s about to swing away.

Her partner stops her by covering her hand with his own. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty!”

“I thought _you_ were the one who proposed a divorce?”

“Oh,” Chat says, looking smug, “So you agree we’re married then?”

Good lord, he cannot take any more of this. Hawk Moth rolls his eyes, unfurling himself to clamber down his human’s arm to sit between them. It puts a prompt stop to their conversation— _flirting_ , more like—and that’s about when Ladybug remembers what they were supposed to be discussing.

“Papillon, you’re okay with going with Chat?”

For the miraculous. Hawk Moth sighs and dips his head, putting a paw on Chat’s leg.

Ladybug blinks in surprise. Then, she says, “Alright. Next time we’ll split up, and you can have a stimulating conversation with my— _Marinette’s_ cat.”

Chat grins the ‘cat-that’s-got-the-cream’ grin Hawk Moth is sure he’ll never wear. “You got it, my lady. See you Friday?”

“Friday. _Cat_ -ch you later, kitty cat!”

Hawk Moth gets the message. Together, they swing away from Chat Noir’s exuberant farewell, intent on getting home to a warm bed and a good night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #HellaHawkward
> 
> #2Chatty4me
> 
> # _Moth_ erKnowsBest (i might have to use this one again at some point wOOPS sorry for reusing material)
> 
> Also, Ladynoir gives me life.


	20. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth discovers the beauty of blanket burritos.

The room smells like paint.

“Ugh. Papillon, I need to give you a bath.”

Well, there are worse things in life.

Hawk Moth sniffs, looking down at his paint-streaked paw. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s already licking at it. Instinct is really gross, but he won’t lie—he’s kind of offended Marinette thinks so little of his hygiene. He can give himself a bath, thank you very much.

“Oh my God, no! Papillon, don’t do that! I don’t know if the paint is toxic, or, or, or bad for you!”

Tikki laughs. Now Hawk Moth _is_ offended. He gives her the universal ‘you have insulted me and my ancestors and my ancestor’s ancestors’ cat face look, and then resumes his licking—can’t stop, actually. Now that he knows he’s dirty, he _has_ to get clean.

Marinette lunges for him. “Bad kitty!”

Oh, it’s on. Hawk Moth slips away before she can catch him; they’re both agile, but he’s the cat and she’s not Ladybug right now. When she leaps over the chaise, he slides under it, and when she sweeps for him with her leg, all she touches is his tail before he’s off again. When he climbs the ladder to her bed, she darts for him, and when he springboards off midway, she mirrors the movement and backflips to get over and in front of him.

They’re at an impasse and Marinette knows it.

“Bath,” she commands, eyes narrowing. “Now.”

Hawk Moth scoffs. He feints to the left, loops in between her feet and almost trips her with his tail as he bullets past. Marinette yelps as her face almost meets the floor.

“You wanna be this way, fine. Playtime’s over. Tikki, _transformé moi_!”

…Ah. Outrunning an athletic teenager is a lot different than outrunning an athletic _superhero_. Hawk Moth runs, trying to keep low to the ground because he knows Ladybug does best in the air. She has no problem whatsoever using her enhanced abilities to jump, flip, and fly over him, sometimes using the wall as a boost. He tries not to get cornered, dodging beneath the table, but then there’s a familiar _whirr_ ing sound as string slices the air and—

Yep. That happened. Ladybug lassoed him with her yoyo.

“Caught you!” she crows, reeling him in like a fish. Hawk Moth drags along the floor—paws splayed out in front of him even though he can’t find purchase—until he’s at the base of her feet. She picks him up by the scruff of his neck and he goes limp.

“Nice work, Marinette,” Tikki says, smiling after the detransformation.

Hawk Moth sniffs. “Two against one, unfair.”

They high-five, and when the kwami translates what her cat’s just said, Marinette rolls her eyes. “ _I’m_ the one who has to clean this mess up. I think I can be a little unfair, don’tcha think?”

This is true. Hawk Moth resigns himself to his fate as they march for the bathroom.

“Papillon, I promise this won’t be _that bad_. Just stay still and it’ll be over before you know it, okay?” Just in case, the girl locks the door behind her. Hawk Moth has recently gotten the hang of opening doors. He sulks in the corner opposite to his litterbox instead. “And _don’t_ lick yourself.”

He swears she has eyes in the back of her head.

Because she’s considerate and doesn’t hold a grudge against her cat, Marinette waits until the water is properly warm before calling him over. He gets in—reluctantly—because Hawk Moth doesn’t want to further humiliate himself by making her drag him. The water level is low enough that he isn’t swimming, but high enough that his paws are wet. Marinette grabs a cup, fills it, and then douses him several times to get him soaked.

It’s the worst experience ever and he feels like bolting. _Instead,_ he sits there carefully restrained, ears pressed flat against his head. He knows, for all that his instincts yowl and screech, that she’s trying her best not to make him miserable, and that’s enough to stop himself from scratching her.

At least the water is warm.

Then the girl grabs the pet shampoo she bought earlier and gives him a proper bath. He’s as wet and soggy as a mop in a soap bucket, probably looks the same too, and it’s ironically gross and _terrible_. Hawk Moth squeezes his eyes shut to ensure no soap gets in them.

Marinette’s hands are gentle, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s _wet_ and that’s just, just, _no_. He shouldn’t be wet.

He can feel her focus on the spots where the paint is, though she ensures his entire coat is well and fully scrubbed. When his tail flicks as she rubs a sensitive spot, Marinette sputters as bubble and soap smacks her right in the face. She wipes it off with her arm, giving a small tug at his neck in retaliation, but otherwise Hawk Moth is mollified that she’s aware of his discomfort.

A few more douses and he’s pretty sure he resembles a popped water balloon. Marinette coos, strokes his wet head and scratches beneath his wet chin. He meows, pitifully so—though if anyone asks he’d deny it—and paws at her. She grabs a towel and instead of calling him to her, picks him up and towels him off. The draining bathtub is background noise.

“Nice and clean,” Marinette murmurs. At least the towel is fluffy. His miraculous had stayed on during the ordeal, so she wipes over it as well in her toweling. “I’m going to get the blow dryer now, okay? It’s going to be loud.”

“Just get it over with,” Hawk Moth moans.

She acquiesces. The blow dryer is indeed loud—louder than he ever remember it being—but the warning was appreciated and so all that happens is his ears flattening. The dryer runs over his chest, warm like a hand, and Hawk Moth realizes with a start that it actually feels…pretty good.

The hot air passes over his belly and gets his legs and paws. He downright purrs when she starts on his back; Marinette laughs and she _might’ve_ continued blow drying him for a solid five minutes more than is needed.

She wraps him in the equivalence of a cat burrito with a soft new blanket afterwards. It’s warm and small and closed and he’s not wet anymore! A hand full of affection rubs his head and Hawk Moth pushes into the motion. _This_. This is _the best_. He doesn’t even care that Tikki is laughing when they walk out of the bathroom; this is like a double hug and Marinette is fantastic.

She places him on the chaise. “Leaving?” he asks—definitely not whines.

“Gotta clean the tub,” Marinette says, and then looks down at herself. “And shower. Definitely shower.”

“Enjoy,” Tikki says.

“After the tub is clean, I definitely will,” she replies, giving them both a wry smile before heading back to the bathroom.

“Baths are great,” Hawk Moth mumbles. Since Marinette won’t be back for at least thirty minutes, he decides it’s time for a cat nap.

The kwami giggles. She flies over, settling on top of the blanket he’s still wrapped up in. It’s not so tight that he can’t escape, but it’s a pleasant fit and he doesn’t want to get out. “We had to _transform_ to get you in there,” she reminds him.

He blames the cat instincts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -casually drops this off-


	21. Door to the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawk Moth doesn't learn his lesson and once again summons the Smug BugTM...for only like, the _n_ th time.

“…You okay up there?”

Marinette is staring up at him. Hawk Moth stares right back, tail swishing against the wooden door.

“Peachy,” he deadpans. The he turns away. His scratching post is quite tall already, but sometimes he prefers the even taller height of the bedroom door. The bed just isn’t precarious enough to satisfy him. Besides, where else can he dangle all four of his legs?

“Okay, but if you need help getting down later, we’re going to have words,” Marinette tells him. Then she walks away and leaves him be, not deigning to stick around for his withering look. Rude. Just for that, Hawk Moth waits until she’s fully seated at her desk to leap down—landing on his feet, thank you very much—and paw over to her. Then he slings himself across her lap as if he’s been waiting for her this entire time.

She giggles. “Missed me already?” she asks, smoothing a hand across his head.

“You are warm. The door is not.” Then like an afterthought, he adds, “The door also does not provide petting services.”

“You spoil him,” Tikki says. She’s already raided her cookie supply and currently has one in hand as she flies over.

“I can spoil my cat, can’t I?”

Her kwami shoots her a knowing look. “Because you can’t spoil your other one?” Marinette is flushing and Hawk Moth _does not_ want to hear this conversation.

“The more you tease her, the more she won’t do anything.” And that’s just as well; she’s too good for a boy bleeding identity problems all over the place. Blood stains are not easy to get out of the carpet.

Tikki smiles. She’s pleased about… _something_ , and when a kwami is pleased, Hawk Moth knows there’s something foul afoot. Marinette’s cookies are the same as always. Nothing abnormal happened at school, otherwise she’d have walked in groaning or squealing about it. Nope; Tikki’s got a secret, and Hawk Moth wants none of it.

“I don’t want to do _anything_ to Chat,” Marinette finally settles on. She adds, “I’m in love with Adrien.”

Tikki hums. Marinette withers. “...And trying not to be.”

Hawk Moth snorts. “Recovery is a long and strenuous process.”

“Hush, you,” the kwami scolds him. Turning back to her chosen, she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Marinette shrugs and kicks her feet. “There’s not much to say.” A pause. “Well, okay, maybe there is, but I don’t know what to say? I still can't always talk to him but that's a work-in-progress. I'm trying to make it...not the same. It hasn't been the same for awhile now. I know it doesn't look like it, but I'm  _trying_ and I think it's working, so.”

“Go on.”

“It’s not three-kids-a-house-and-a-hamster same!” the girl blurts. “Not anymore. But I still get so—and he’s so—agh, Tikki, I don’t know anymore!”

“Three kids, a house, and a hamster?” Hawk Moth asks. That legitimately threw him off. Unfortunately, there’s no place for a cat in a conversation between a teenage girl and her plush toy god.

“Oh, Marinette, there’s nothing to worry about! You’re just growing up,” Tikki says, and floats over to pat her cheek for good measure. “Do you still love him?”

“I do,” she replies, and there’s such a strong conviction in her voice that it makes Hawk Moth dislike Chat Noir even more. Marinette motions to the box next to her closet. “But, _that_ —I—”

Tikki waits patiently—she always does; sometimes Marinette needs a little more time to collect herself, iron out her thoughts, and her kwami is good at waiting for it to happen. Their dynamic reminds him of a time long ago, a time he doesn’t want to think about—kwami are cold beings, no matter what act they put on. Hawk Moth isn’t fooled.

“I don’t know what I want,” she finally says. “Adrien is—he’s perfect, he is. He’s the sort of person you just want to make happy. I know I love him because I want to see him smile, because hearing his voice makes me a little dizzy and a lot happy—and I want to be beside him and talk to him and just, just _love_ him.”

Marinette sighs. She scoops him up and cradles him the best she can in her arms. “He deserves the world, Tikki. Adrien works so hard—and he’s still so _kind_ ; I’m not sure if I could be like him in the same situation. He loves his father even when he runs him into the ground with work, and still manages to come to school and. I mean, I’m Ladybug. I get being busy. But being busy, and having to look behind your shoulder every time you want to make friends? He looked so nervous just calling to meet up! For school!”

Gabriel failing at fatherhood. To be honest, that doesn’t surprise him—Gabriel was definitely not the better half of the two. Hawk Moth closes his eyes. He consistently forgot to eat three meals a day. He pulled all-nighters like he downed caffeine. He was a man of action, only because words came too sharp and too fast in his mind, and his filter trapped all the things he should’ve said and let slip the things he shouldn’t have. Gabriel was a handful and half.

He wonders if that’s changed since then. If he’s estranged his only son, Hawk Moth doubts it.

Tikki waits. Her patience is rewarded with Marinette finishes with, “A-and you know, I’ve been starting to think for a while now that all he wants are friends.”

“Oh, Marinette.” Her kwami sighs. “And what does this have to do with what you want?” she asks, gentle and coaxing. It’s not as difficult as pulling teeth with plyers, but Hawk Moth can certainly see tugging shoes off feet.

“I want him happy,” she says, firm and absolute. “And if he’s happier with more friends than with a girlfriend…then I want to be friends. No three-kids-a-house-and-a-hamster included.”

“Your ship is sinking,” Hawk Moth remarks. Tikki shoots him an offhanded stink eye.

“That’s…well, that’s very mature of you, Marinette,” the kwami says. Then she brightens immediately, putting on a smile to hug her chosen. “It sounds like you _do_ know what you want. I’m proud of you.”

“Really? Even though I'm still in love with him while I'm trying to be friends? You don’t think I’m indecisive, or taking advantage of him, or-or using this as an excuse to give up?”

“Are you?”

Marinette frantically shakes her head. “No! I’m—he’s _Adrien_! I’d never do that to him!”

Tikki pats her cheek. “That’s right, you love him too much for that. And that’s why I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Tikki.” Marinette sniffs. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Marinette!” the kwami replies, snuggling up close. “And Papillon says he loves you, too!”

Hawk Moth starts. “Wha— _no,_ I absolutely did not!”

Marinette, however, doesn’t understand. She nuzzles their cheeks together, giggling as his whiskers tickle her skin, and then affirms, “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget you. I love you, too, Papillon.”

“Stupid bug,” he hisses, though makes no move to get away from the impromptu cuddle session. “Your days are numbered!”

Tikki has the audacity to smile at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get a peek inside Marinette's head on Adrien. _About time._
> 
> And eventually these friendship talks will sink in for good 'ol Cat Moth..........idk, through osmosis or something. He's learning through exposure! Now if only textbooks worked the same way... -glares at textbook under pillow-
> 
> ...Also now you know why I replaced the canon trap door entrance to Marinette's room with a normal door. Here's your homework tonight: google search 'cats on doors.' You won't regret it.
> 
> yes the chapter title is a pun


End file.
